Christine Seeley Keenan
by sirscreen
Summary: When Booth died, she burned every bridge she had and raised his daughter. Now, his former protege' has taken Christine to DC, and is forcing her to dig up the past and forcing her to come to terms with his death.
1. Disclaimer

I do not own Bones.

Please review. If you want a better story I need Criticism


	2. Near Death Experience

Chapter 1

"Hey, Kee-kee."

Christine rolled her eyes and turned around. The teenager in front of her was of tall build, muscular and about as mature as a three-year-old.

She smiled at him, like a cat at a mouse. "Malcolm, you know I don't like it when you call me that." she said sweetly.

"Ah, I know Kee-kee. I just wanted to congratulate you on graduating and your moms winnin the election." if there was one thing that Christie hated, it was when Malcolm call her mother "moms".

"Well, as you can see, my mother" she stresses the last word "isn't here at the moment." _please let him take that as a threat._

No such luck. "I know riiight?"Oh, God, was he hitting on her? Couldn't he see she wasn't interested? "I was thinkin maybe, cause you know, we might not see each other for awhile, riight?" he was as dumb as he was immature.

She smiled at him sweetly. Right before punching him in the face.

He fell on his ass with that single blow. If anything had been taught to him, other bad pickup lines, it was how to fight. Immediately after her downing him, he rolled back up in a fighting stance. With a bloody lip, she was pleased to notice.

"Your gonna pay for that" was all he said. So cliche'

"So shut up and make me pay, then" she retorted.

He threw the first punch. She stepped inside and left hooked him in the jaw. He rolled back to lessen the blow, and threw another punch and this one connected. They both fell onto their respective butts. Then immediately after rolled back into fighting stances. She threw her hand back to punch-

And something metallic enclosed around hey wrist with a click.

Uh-oh.

She turned to see a beautiful woman standing behind her. Mom.

Christine's mom was one of the most beautiful women she had ever met. But, for her entire life, she just seemed, sad. It surrounded her like an aura. It didn't suit her first name, Joy, at all

Not that Christie noticed this. She was to busy worrying about how much trouble she was in.

"Hi, mom."

Her mother signed, exasperated. "You couldn't even wait to the last day?"

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, I have officially graduated high school, so I did wait till the last day."

Suddenly, mom brought Chistie's arm back down, behind her back. Then she cuffed her own daughter.

"Ow! What are you doing, mom!"

"Arresting you."

"On what charges?!!" she screamed.

"On brawling in public" there was something in the voice that was a little hurt. But most of which was pure business.

"Ha! Take her, Sheriff!"

"You're under arrest to, Mr. Kallen."

"What?!!"

"I saw you hit my daughter."

"You can't be serious!"

"Why do they always say that?" Joy whispered under her breath as she cuffed him

"My dad owns half this town! You can't do this to me!"

Wrong thing to say to my mother.

I swear to God, if my moms sunglasses weren't on, her eyes would have flashed so bright it would have vaporized the fool. My mom HATES corruption. The first thing she did as Sheriff was clear the town government of corrupt politicians. The closest one to getting out still has 5 more years till parole.

"Guess what" her tone dangerous now.

"What?!" this guy was really stupid.

"I don't care."

"I'LL GET YOU FOR THIS! AND YOUR DAUGHTER TO!"

She went onto read them their Miranda Rights. She then went on to put them in the back seat of her squad car.

"Scoot over!"

"You scoot over!"

She hear her mom whisper "Its like I had twins!"

* * *

Jon "Trev" Trevodur waited patiently on his tree branch. He was a bit tired. He had followed his mark for days. Learning his habits. Remembering his routes to and from work. He had to hand it to those Forensic Accountants in the CIA. They could find him here, in , literally, Nowhere, Oregon. It is a small town in the middle of, well, no where. Not that he minded small towns. He himself had grown up in a small town down in the middle of the California Dessert. The fact that Norco was no longer there saddened him.

He looked through the scope of his large .50 cal sniper. Normally such a weapon was overkill for a sniper mission. Hell, normally, Trev wouldn't even use a sniper. He preferred mid-, close-, or hand -to-hand to sniping. Use c8, or old fashioned dynamite. He had always struggled with snipers. One of the reasons why he missed one of his first mentors, Seeley Booth, a former Ranger sniper. But he had been dead for almost 19 years. He hadn't even had the chance to go to his funeral. He was on an assignment.

Besides, he had to shoot him through a car, moving at 25 miles per hour. Which was why he was a mere hundred feet from the road. Well, above it actually. Waiting in a tree. For two days. The patient Marine that he was.

Ah, there he comes! Right on schedule! Drug dealer selling secrets to the Chinese. Currently they were using his supply network to create caches for their black ops teams. _Shouldda just stuck to the crack, amigo._

Trev maneuvered his rifle so that it was pointed just above his mark drivers' seat. The sensors in his helmet could pick-out the electromagnetic field created from his heartbeat. The few days of getting visual and having the computer "memorize" his particular field had taken up most of his surveillance. He knew for sure it was him.

Without further ado, Trev fired his rifle.

As the SUV swerved off to the side of the road, Trevs earpiece sounded. _"Dispatch, this is 0-0-45-3, heard a shot fired over buy Mount rd. going to investigate."_

_"Roger, 0-0-45-3,do you need back up?"_

_"Send over one additional unit. Over."_

_"Roger. Help is on the way."_

Damn! That is why he hated using sniper rifles. Things were too loud. They probably thought that Trev was just some hunter shooting a deer out of season. But why ask for the towns, literally, half the police? Didn't make sense.

Grumbling, he tried to remember which officer was 0-0-45-3. Hmm, that would be the Sheriff. Sheriff Joy Keenan, that's it. Daughter, unmarried. He remembered this because before 2010, Joy Keenan didn't exist. The info on her would fool a police background check, but not him. She was either WITSEC, unlikely; they wouldn't allow her to be a Sheriff. Or she was a spy, most likely being Crackheads handler for the Chinese. Or maybe she was just on the run for a number of reasons, none of them good.

That being said, after joining LAPD she acquired an impressive rapsheet. SWAT, patrol, drug sting operations, Bomb Squad, and a whole cacophony of others. All in under five years. For some reason, she never became a detective. Keenan was up to receive a very prestigious award, but then she left the LAPD and started switching departments on a regular basis. In the last thirteen years she had worked for seven different towns police agency. She had won this town's Sheriff elections by a landslide.

The squad car pulled around the corner. Trev tracked her through his scope. When she got out of the car, she looked familiar. Which wasn't odd, he rely on my gut on these assignments, and I probably just saw her picture in passing. She was a looker, at least. She had auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. Fine eyebrows and full lips with a high forehead. His gut also told him she was sad. Her chest was slightly caved in, indicating she was mourning someone.

She didn't dress like she was mourning. Or even like a sheriff. She dressed more like a plain-clothes cop, in a light brown cold weather jacket, button up shirt open at the throat, beige pants, and sensible shoes. The jacket and shoes seem to accentuate her curves. His girlfriend always wants him to pick up style tips for her even when he's on assignment.

She goes over to inspect the vehicle. She won't find anything. His bullet was specially designed to pass through the metal or glass of the car and breakup on contact with the road. All they would find were pieces of metal. She takes her sunglasses off to get a better view of the wreckage, revealing stunning cornflower blue eyes. But that was not what caught Trevs attention. It was the intelligence behind them. Anyone could see that she reviewed the crime scene with an expert's eye. But Trev saw something people didn't. Not even Booth had the gut instinct that Trev had.

She had done this kind of thing not dozens, but hundreds of times before.

Troubled by the realization, Trev trained his scope on the squad car. In the back was a boy and a girl. The boy was an idiot, probably a jock by his musculature. Quarterback, if the former Defensive lineman would bet on it. The girl, however, was smart. Not only that, she was the exact, if younger, replica of Sheriff Keenan. Her daughter then. Christine Something Keenan. Only difference was she had deep brown eyes instead of shocking blue. Those eyes were alert and focused. They were calculating, searching.

Right were he was hiding.

Trev thought No way that she can see me. Then she turned and yelled at her mother. Keenan Sr. turned towards her daughter. She gestured towards Trevs position with her head. Had her own mother arrested her? It would be very amusing under different circumstances. But not these ones. Her mother looked towards his position. It took a few seconds till she reached for her sidearm.

He didn't let touch it. He aimed for center mass. Suddenly his gut screamed NO! He shifted his aim slightly and fired.

* * *

Tem-, Joy was having a bad day. It had started, as usual, with her waking up and crying. It has been 19 years since...she could never bring herself to finish that sentence. Not even after almost two decades. Then she had to face the horror of watching her beloved daughter graduate high school. What would happen to me when she is gone? The only thing keeping her from descending into grief was seeing her Christine every day. It was the one piece of … Him … that she had left.

As if that wasn't enough, she had arrested said daughter for fighting mere hours after the graduation ceremony. She knew Malcolm Kallen was an ass. That did not mean her daughter wouldn't kill him. Then she would be in deep trouble. And Joy would be unable to see her daughter every day

Then she heard a shot fired off. After alerting Julia in dispatch and requesting backup, she pulled over a hundred yards from the crime scene. Dark blue SUV had crashed into a tree.

She got out of her car, not before telling the arguing and unwilling occupants "stay here". She then proceeded to examine the crime scene.

It was amazing how similar and different it was. She felt in her element here. She could immediately tell that the driver was hit with a large caliber bullet. She could perfectly imagine the scene of the car swerving after a loud bang and hitting the tree. But there were no flashing strobe lights. No police barricade. And definitely no … him.

And then Christine cried out "Mom! He's in the trees!" she turned towards her daughter and saw her jerk her head towards the trees. Joy looked to where her daughter indicated. After few seconds, she could just make out from the tree...

A large barreled rifle.

She reached for her gun. The rifle fired with a loud, deep BOOM!

Joy leaped to the right. This time she gets her gun out. Only a very lucky shot could hit him at this range. But she had to keep his attention from Christine.

She never got the chance to fire. He seemed to have jumped from his perch on the tree and was falling, attached to a rope. As he fell, he started to fire his rifle at her. But, he seemed to be missing her. At this range he should have killed her at the first shot. But he made her duck and cover.

He hit the ground. Drew a knife, cut the line holding him to the tree, and ran off into the woods.

* * *

**Christine**

I had seen my mother leap when the pavement next to her exploded in concourse with the BOOM! In that nanosecond, I believed I had just lost my loving mother forever. But I had then seen her draw her gun and duck again as he fired again.

Immediately I began to move and stretch my cuffed arms in seemingly random movement. The cuffs came free as I broke the tiny gears in them.

I leaped out of the car and ran towards my mom. I got to her "Are you hurt?" I asked urgently. I new she was. That was the sound of a .50 Springfield M-43. Had only recently started to be used by the military. Even a glancing blow would have at least blown off a limb.

She didn't even look at me. She stared at where she saw him disappear into the woods. "I'm fine. Get in the car," she ordered. And then she ran off towards the woods.

"But-"

"Get in the car NOW, CHRISTIE!"

I waited for a few agonizing seconds, then ran after her.

Joy ran after him. He had a good lead, but was weighed down by a forty-pound rifle and ammo. Plus other gear, it seemed. She caught up in a few seconds. She raised her gun and shouted "Police, freeze!" he turned and fired at her with a handgun.

The loud _pops!_ forced Joy to take cover behind a tree. When the gunshots stopped she went out from under cover and fired.

At nothing.

He simply wasn't there anymore. He wasn't blending into the surrounding. He wasn't there.

Suddenly she sung to her right. Before she could fire, he knocked the gun out of her hands. He grabbed her wrist and made like he would break her arm against his other hand. She stepped inside and threw a punch towards his kidneys. He stepped foreword and pushed her behind him.

"Mom?!"

Oh, God no, CHRISTIE!

He turned his balaclava-covered head to look at her daughter. Taking the opportunity and need to protect her Christine, she threw a punch straight at his face. This time it connected.

He rolled back, grabbed her arm, swept her feet from under her with his leg, and slammed her to the ground. The last coherent thought before she blacked out was the need to protect Christie from this man._____________________________________________________________________________________ Trev

I grabbed my pistol from the ground, pivoted and aimed. Keenan Jr stood there, shock still, tears traveling down her face.

"Please," she pleaded, "don't hurt her." her life was threatened and she was worrying about her mom? Some kid.

I turned and ran. I would retrieve the body later.

When I was a good distance from the both of them, I stopped and chuckled. I had seen Keenan before. First time in person years ago.

_It was a sad occasion. Technically I wasn't even supposed to be here. I officially did not exist. That didn't stop me from coming. It was a good friend of mine's funeral._

_I stood back from the rest of the mourners. There was a lawyer giving a eulogy. There was one woman in the front who wasn't in mourning clothes. Apparently he had "died" by taking a bullet meant for her. So she must be the famous Dr. Temperance Brennan. His scientist partner. Apparently I was right about them loving each other. The first time I met Seeley he complained about her nonstop. Even though she was not crying, I could still tell that she was sad. Terribly sad, just very good at hiding it._

_Well he wasn't really dead. He was the soldier on the far right of the funeral detail. I thought about going over to say hi briefly, but if he wanted people to believe he was dead, I wasn't going to stop him._

_Another man was hanging back. This one obviously wanted trouble. I was just beginning to make my move to quietly kill him when he quickly walked over to the ceremony. Booth immediately left the guard formation and got into a fight with him. His partner ended the fight by hitting the offender with the arm of the mannequin from the coffin. Then, in a fit of a rage, even though I knew that she felt relived and happy just a few seconds ago when she learned he was alive, she punched him. The sight of the legendary Seeley Booth getting socked in the face by women the size of a paperweight made me laugh._

And I laughed again as I remembered that day. I had remembered were I had seen her before, the second she punched me. A lot like she did that day twenty years ago. She was none other than Dr. Temperance Brennan.


	3. Divided Attention

**Sorry about not updating in a while. My computer died ([flatlining sound] **_**Clear!…ZAP! We're losing her!… Clear!… ZAP!… [Flatlining continues]…**_**) so I had to write it by hand and type it out. At least now I can work on it in school.**

**~*~**

Dr. Jack Hodgins rubbed his forehead. Ever since he became the Director of the Jeffersonian he had no peace. There was always a budget crisis, or an artifact was misplaced, or, heaven forbid, his son was caught within twenty feet of Cleopatra's bed with Lily. The last one made Jack shudder with the thought. He did _not _want a grandchild conceived on the same bed as his child.

His phone rang. Again. Like it does all day, every day. No matter how much Jack delegated, and by now he was a master at it, he never made it more than fifteen minutes respite. Nevertheless, the good little administrator that he now was, he answered.

"Hodgins"

"Hello, Dr. Hodgins." The voice was fluid, utterly devoid of emotion.

"Who is this and what do you want?" Jack was rude to just about anyone these days.

"I do not have your undivided attention do I?"

"Nope" he was currently doing paperwork and playing Solitaire. Multitasking was a skill that was worth acquiring on this job.

"Very well then. If you open your email, you shall find something very interesting. I shall call again at 1600 hours your time, and I expect your undivided attention." With that he hung up.

Weirdo, he thought.

Nevertheless, he opened his email. Sure enough, there was one received recently. He opened it. Before it loaded onto his desktop, he signed his signature on a particularly vexing piece of paperwork.

When he looked up, he broke his pen with the force of which he pressed down on it. Ink splattered on the page, ruining it. Jack didn't care. He ran out of his office, and began dialing his wife's number on his cell phone.

~*~

Angela Hodgins was playing with her computer. She didn't have anything else to do. Parker had yet to come to them with a case. She had already done the facial reconstructions for their Limbo cases for today. It was times like these that she missed Bren the most. She would go into Bren's office, and she would tease her about her obvious romantic feelings for Booth, or have a one-sided conversation about the latest gossip. It was always interesting when she was around.

Her phone chirped. Looking at the caller ID, she smiled. "Hey, Jack."

_"Angela! Open up my email and round up everyone! I cant explain, just do it!"_ with that he hung up.

Ordinarily, Angela would be pissed that he had hung up on her like that. But she had known him long enough to know when he was riled, relieved, and worried at the same time.

First, she opened up his email. She still thought it was sweet that his password was "Sam and Ange".

She found the email Jack must have men. It was opened recently and was titled "Undivided attention".

What she saw made her turn and start running toward the lab area.

~*~

Camille "Cam" Saroyan was one of the top forensic pathologists in the country. She once made a shriveled mummy look human again by rehydrating it, managed to do a tox screen on bits of flesh from a body stuffed in a barrel of wine for years, and then some. She was also one of the few scientists in the Jeffersonian that actually had some people skills.

Rare as it was in the Jeffersonian, even she was stymied by the sight before her. Dr. Daisy Sweets wore a scowl that would make a shark cower in fear.

When she had snapped at one of her grad student interns with such ferocity Cam was afraid that the poor man would commit suicide in a closet somewhere, she had to ask.

"Daisy?"

"Yes?" Brief, kurt, and so close to getting her fired.

"Whats with you today? I haven't seen you like this since Sam" Jacks son " was found with a picture of Lily in a bikini." What is it with her family and flowers? She had a mother named Rose and a grandmother named Petunia. Now a daughter named Lily.

Daisy let out a pent up sigh. She looked a little calmer. "I … walked in on Sam and Lily." Those two were so into it that there was a pool running on when the parents would find a pregnancy test.

Cam was confused. "But you did that before, and you haven't been this mad."

"I walked in on them… in Cleopatra's bed." What was it with that bed? "I don't want a grandchild conceived on the same bed that my child was conceived on."

"To much information, Daisy."

At that moment, Angela ran into the lab area, a worried look on her face.

_"Come into my office, quick!"_ she yelled.

Sending a confused look to Daisy, she and her companion left the forensics platform and walked into Angela's office.

Cam's eyes widened as she saw the image on the wall screen. "Oh my God." She said. There, aged 19 years and staring at the camera with a curious look on her face, was Temperance Brennan.

"Oh my God, Angela." She couldn't keep the hope of seeing a long lost friend from her voice.

"Look closer."

"What?"

"Look closer."

When Cam looked closer, she gasped and covered her mouth in fear.

Over Brennan's chest, was a sniper's crosshairs.

~*~

**Again, I like to know that people are reading my work. Please review, for good or bad.**

** Next chapter has a NCIS cross over.**


	4. I am Strong

**Two authors notes:**

**1) I just saw the new episode of castle and the sick bastards left one hell-a-va cliffhanger. That spurred me on to finish the story.**

**2) I know that Sarah is at least 10 years older than Parker. But this is my world. In here I am GOD!!!!**

~*~

**Trev **

I couldn't help but laugh as I watched the "squints", as Booth used to call them, scramble around after I sent the e-mail. Ever since I was a little kid, I loved to jerk people around. Then it was my little sister. Now its my handlers and these squints.

Wait, something is wrong. On the security video feed I had hacked onto my PDA, their faces were worried. Too worried. From what I can tell, it happens after they see the picture. Quickly I pull up the picture I sent-

Oh.

So that's why they were so worried. The picture was taken through the scope of my sniper rifle. The cross hairs were right over her heart. They thought I was threatening her. Maybe I shouldn't have used my patented psychopath voice.

I got three reasons not to kill her:

1) Lisa would be disappointed . The worst one. You just end up feeling like shit, even if she forgives you.

2) She was Booth's former partner. He obviously cared about her. Booth was a very good friend of mine.

3) It would be to much of a hassle to erid of the body and evidence. I don't murder unless I get ordered to by my handlers. Even then, I gotta get paid and see a good reason in it. that's my psychopath reason.

My PDA beeped. Hmm, Hodgins was calling the NCIS Director directly. That sent up a flag in my head. I don't know anyone important in-

Ah shit.

~*~

"McGee, come _on!" _Tony Dinozzo shouted.

Director of NCIS Tim McGee pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated staff meetings.

"Tony, for the last time, no! I will not allow you to take MTAC time for 'Mega-Classic Movie Night'"

Ziva David-Dinozzo, Tony's wife and Head of Intelligence, sighed exasperatedly "Tony, _I _am using MTAC for the rest of the week to monitor suspected enemy spies in the Navy" she explained, "And I am _not _loosing four years of work just so you can watch 'Bic Privates' and a big screen!"

"'Buck Privates'" every one corrected automatically.

Abigail McGee, Head of Forensics and Tim's wife, put in, "Don't feel bad Tony. Tim wont even approve a _few hundred _bucks to make some much needed changes to my labs."

Tim pinched his nose again. "Abby, painting the walls black aren't needed."

Tim's little sister, Sarah Booth, sat in the corner. She scowled, "Is money that scarce?"

"Our budget is _tiny, _ all of the Department of the Navy's money is going to the Navy and Marines fighting ACF" Asian Communist Forces "in the Southwest"

Tim's phone rang. He put it on speaker. "McGee."

_ "McGee, its Hodgins!"_

"Yeah, Jack, what's this about?"

_ "Where's Parker? I need him now!"_

Sarah stiffened, and began to twist her wedding ring, an unconscious habit having to do with worry and her husband. "He's down in the bullpen." she said, "What's going on? Is he in danger?"

_ "No! he needs to get to the Jeffersonian _now! _We found Brennan, she is in danger!"_

Immediately after hearing this, Sarah leapt out of her chair and flew from the Directors office.

~*~

Parker Booth cracked his neck. He had been doing his paperwork to long. Sometimes he wondered if McG- Tim, had it out for him for marrying his little sister. A lowly Probie marrying the Director's sister is a little on the "not good enough for you" list. But maybe that's how all federal agencies worked. As a kid, he could remember Dad sitting at his desk all day doing paperwork sometimes. This would occasionally be interrupted by lunch with Dr. Bones, as he continued to think of her.

"Parker"

His head snapped up, and then winced as his neck crick twinged. He was even inheriting his fathers back problems. Coming down the stairs was, in his opinion, the most beautiful women in the world, his wife, Sarah.

"Sarah, meeting over already?" he couldn't help but smile. Maybe he could even grab lunch with her.

His smile dropped when he stopped (okay, kinda stopped, he is whipped alright) taking in her beauty and focusing on expression. She was worried.

"What's wrong" he asked, urgently.

"Parker," she began, "we just got a call from Hodgins. He wants you at the Jeffersonian, _now._ emphasis on the _now_."

Parker picked up his backpack. Hodgins didn't usually call, that was Angela. "What, did he say why?"

"It's either '_Well,_ did he say why?, or just 'Did he say why?'" she corrected him automatically.

"Honey, focus. Husband, not a student."

"Sorry, something about finding a women named Brennan, and that she is in danger."

At these words, Parker's eyes widened. He yanked open his drawer, pulled out his sidearm and two extra clips, and rushed to the elevator.

He turned to the staring Sarah and yelled "Sarah, come on!"

Sarah rushed to the elevator.

**Sarah**

_Great_, I thought getting into the elevator, _in addition to my _other _worries, I have to learn who this Brennan is. _I am not one to beat around the bush, that is Tim's style, but Parker seems riled on this one.

"Um," _great opening Sarah_, "who is Brennan?"

He looked at me and then smiled at the reflective elevator doors. Then he hit the emergency brakes. A part of me wondered how many times they had to replace that brake. Most of me was focused on Parker.

"Dr. Temperance Brennan," he began, "was my father's partner."

Temperance Brennan. That name sounds familiar. I tried to place it.

As usual, he read my mind. "Famous author" he said "_Bred in Bone_?"

Realization dawned on me. "That was her?"

"Yep. More importantly she was a forensic anthropologist. One of the best."

"Let me guess, inspired you to become a forensic anthropologist as well?" it still amazed her that some one with such a rare skill still chose to work as a probie in NCIS.

"Yep. She and my dad were real close. Almost like a second mother."

"Looks like some followed in mommy and daddy's footsteps." I couldn't help but smile. This women might be interesting to meet.

He chuckled, "She did more than that. She helped me get over my dad's death." his eyes shifted to the floor. My heart went out to him. That was always a touchy topic for him. "For the last nineteen years, no one has heard from her. I don't think that she got over dad's death either." he paused "Do you think dad would be proud of me?"

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "You served in Marine Recon, got a doctorate in one of the most difficult scientific fields, and are now a NCIS Special Agent. If he isn't proud, I'll walk the stairways of Heaven and kick his ass in front of God Himself."

He smiled and kissed me gently on the lips. My heart did a few somersaults. "ya know, sometimes I worry about your soul."

**Parker**

I remember the day I last saw Dr. Bones

_I was nine. My father had died. I did what any other nine-year-old would do. I cried._

_ That's how Dr. Bones found me. I was hiding in the bathroom, crying my eyes out. I stared at her, silently pleading for her to take away the hurt. To her credit, she didn't say anything. She just hugged me and cried with me. _

_After what felt like hours, I finally worked up the courage to ask her "Dr. Bones, is Daddy in heaven?"_

_ I felt her sob again and say "Yes, Parker, Booth is in Heaven."_

_ I still couldn't feel happy with that answer. "Why did he die Bones? Why would God let him die?"_

_ Her sobs got harder. "I don't know." and then she looked into my eyes with her puffy red ones and said "But I do know that Booth would want us not to let his death make us fall into sadness. He would not want us to build walls. He would want us to find peace and be strong."_

_ And the next words I shall never forget. "But I am not strong enough Parker. I need you to be stronger than me."_

And I have become stronger. I am strong in body because I am retired Marine. I am strong in mind because I am a Forensic Anthropologist and a NCIS Special Agent. And I am strong in heart as a husband. I am strong.


	5. Black Ops

**Two Updates in one week! I am so proud of myself. Just a little note: Christine had (unknowingly) chosen to follow in her father's footsteps. She had gotten an Army ROTC scholarship to Washington State and has yet to tell the 'Good Doctor'.**

**Chapter 5 Black Ops**

**Joy**

_I can remember the hangover. The pain as my dehydrated brain tried to function. My dilated eyes squinted as they took in to much light. The confusion of what had happened the night before did not come to my brain._

_I remember the horror of waking up in an unfamiliar hotel room. The cheap bed and nightstand were worn and well used, the squeaking of the springs giving my headache more precedence._

_More importantly, I remember who I awoke next to. I remember that tangled web of emotions. I was happy. I was scared. I was confused and angry and curious all at the same time._

_I at least knew why I was happy. I loved him simple as that. I was afraid he would hurt me and leave me like so many others in my life. I did not know why I was angry or curious. Was I angry with myself, for letting this happen? Was I angry for me letting my guard down? Was I angry with him, for being the man I had fallen for? Why was I curious?_

_What would happen now?_

~*~

I awoke in a hospital. Just like that day, I had a headache and nausea. But it was different. These symptoms were more conductive of a concussion, not a hangover.

I looked to my left. I couldn't help but smile. I must have been out for a while. Christine's best friend, Jake, was asleep in the chair beside my bed. He must have convinced her to allow shifts. She is probably sleeping in the on-call room. A Sheriff's daughter has some pull afterall.

I didn't want to wake him, so I just laid in my bed and thought. Had Booth and I have been this obviously in love, yet so blind? I will never know about his affections, but for me, based on Angela's constant assertions, the answer was _yes_. Even I could see the affection between the two and I am _terrible_ at reading people. Jake's grandfather and I had a running bet on who will make the first move.

**Jake**

I don't know what woke me. I guess my body said _Time to wake up, Jakey-boy!_ Anyway, it was slow, me waking up. But when I finally was fully awake, the first thing I noticed was that Ms Keenan was awake.

I hurriedly got out of my chair. Christie had explicitly told me to wake her as soon as her mom woke. I had seen an angry Christie before, and was in no hurry to repeat the experience

"Where are you going?" I stopped

"On-call room. Christie is catching some Z's" she looked confused. "Sleeping." I corrected.

I raced down the hall and snuck into the on-call room. There she was, sleeping in the bed closest to the door. I hated the fact that I had to wake. She looked so peaceful when she slept. He auburn hair was everywhere. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was reassuring and comforting. I was a hop and skip away from becoming a stalker, wasn't I?

Stealing myself, I gently shook her. "Mmmm" she moaned. _Focus man._ She had never been a light sleeper. One of the things that worries me will get her killed when she joins the Army.

I shook her again.

This time she opened her eyes. She graced me with a half smile. "Hey", she said.

Trying to reel in my imagination, I said "Hey". _Smooth man, real smooth._

She stretched in her bed. With great difficulty, I kept my eyes on her face. "Shift change already?"

"Nope. She's awake."

**Christie **

I can think of multiple things at once. A part of me was admiring the stud in front of me. Man he was handsome. Another was kicking myself for doing that little stretch in front of him. _He doesn't think of you like that, Christine. Get a life. _The rest of me was following the conversation.

So it took a few seconds for me to react.

When I finally did react, I leapt out of the bed and flew to mom's room.

"Mom!" I gushed as I entered her room. I immediately hugged her.

"Christine", she said as she hugged back

"I was so worried." Not about the concussion, but the guy who gave it to her.

"I am fine, baby, I'm fine."

"A-hem."

I turned. Standing in of the doorway was one of mom's deputies. This particular one I wouldn't mind kissing with a chainsaw. His name was Calson and before my mom came to town he was the Sheriff. Mom kept him because he was one of the few honest cops in the department. I am pretty sure, however, he wasn't happy with the demotion. He was professionally polite and respectful to my mom, but he watched like a hawk, waiting for her to screw up.

"What is it, Deputy Calson?" mom was polite to him in turn, even though she knew that he didn't like her.

"I'll need to take your statement, Ma'am." Ooh, he just stepped on a landmine.

Mom raised her eyebrow. She hated it when people called her "ma'am". She "preferred" to be called "Sheriff". He smiled, "Remember the rule you inacted last year?"

Realization dawned on mom's face. Damn rule. Last year, mom changed the Standard Operating Procedure so that if you became "involved" in an investigation, you were to be treated as a civilian. Essentially, suspended without pay, without all the paperwork.

Mom patted my elbow. "I'm fine" she said, "go wait outside".

Nodding mutely, I left the room. Jake was sitting outside. He took one look at me and asked "Why are you so nervous?"

Damn it! How could he read me like a book? I sighed. "I'm worried that the guy who did this will comeback."

"Why? The victim was a known drug dealer. It was probably just one of his rivals that did this."

"No, it wasn't" I was sure of that.

"How da ya know?"

Time to let the cat outta the bag. "He wore a ghilie suit. They are used by-"

"-snipers that want to be concealed, I know." if it had been anyone else that finished for me like that, I would knock them on their ass. He had "Best Friend Privileges" so I couldn't do that. And of course he would know, his father-asshole-and grandfather are former military. Kinda pick up on it. "That doesn't mean anything. Anyone can make those things." He finished. True, I had one and he had three, all at his house to hide from mom. She understood that the military was necessary, but sure as hell didn't want me to join, think about, or even express interest in it.

"Used a Fairbarn-Stykes fighting knife to cut the rope."

"All that proves is that he has a good taste in knives." Jake's Gramps, a graduate of Camp X, has one of the originals and was taught to use it by Old Major Fairbarn himself.

"When he fought mom, he used a modified form of MCMAP" Marine Corps Martial Arts Program.

"So he is a former Marine, wouldn't be the first one to turn to drug dealing or murder", unfortunately, I knew he spoke from experience. But there was doubt in his voice.

Time for the finisher, "He used a M-43 Springfield."

This time he blanched and gulped. "But that's-"

"A .50 cal Sniper rifle complete with a dual optic scope and that doesn't discard the brass, that-"

"-is used by stealth black ops missions."

"The man that killed the drug dealer, he was a government sponsored Black Operations Assassin."

**Trev**

Finally! Man, the coroners in this town are slow. In New York or what was Los Angeles, even in rush hour traffic, they would have transversed twice the distance in half the time. Maybe it was the fact that this town had a low murder rate, and he wasn't having to pick up bodies every twenty minutes.

I stuck out my thumb looking just like any other hitchhiker. Not a very solid plan I will admit, but I was improvising. At least I looked the part. Flannel shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots. I tried not think about the fact that this was what I wore all the time when not on an assignment. I _did not _need to give Lisa anymore ammo in the "Give Trev a Makeover" debate. She may rule the kitchen with an iron fist (even I dare not go in that country, lest I be caught) but there wasn't even a _hope _in _Heaven_ that I would let her _near_ my clothes with a trashbag.

Good, he stopped. Come on, roll down the win- Yes! He rolled down the window. Bonus, he stuck his head out. "Hey, buddy, wh-" he never finished the sentence. I reached up and slammed his head into his window. I opened the door and dragged him out. He wasn't unconscious, just woozy from the concussion. I injected him with a modified Rohypnol. The properties that made it such a great date-rape drug also made ideal for my situation. He would be out for about 15 minutes (I only used a little) and he wouldn't remember my face. He gets to live, I remain anonymous, and Lisa isn't disappointed. It's a win-win.

I got in the van. I buckled (safety first.), and then changed his radio stations just to annoy him. Finally I put in a CD and listened to the sweet tunes of Lynyrd Skynyrd as I drove to the disposal sight.

Sometimes, being a government sponsored Black Operations Assassin ain't so bad.

**All right next chapter, we explore the mystery that is Trev.**


	6. Who the hell is he?

** Sorry about not updating in a while. Bad case of writers block. I forgot to mention that Trev had Called Jack after 1600. so Hodgins has to wait till the next day.**

~*~

Jack Hodgins paced back and forth, cursing DC traffic as he did so. Parker had called. He said he was stuck in traffic. He, Sarah, and Sweets were on their way, but were stuck in rush hour traffic. It did not help that he had a good twenty hours until the caller called back.

His phone beeped. He answered it. "Hodgins."

"Jack, about that call you wanted us to trace..." Please, let it be good news.

"What about it?"

"We couldn't trace it."

"WHAT?!"

"It was weird. The call appears to be made from a smart phone. But there were a dozen different cell towers that broadcasted the signal. They ranged from Texas to New York.

"What about the e-mail?"

"Same thing. We even think its from the same phone."

"Alright, thanks." Deflated, Jack hung up.

Angela saw the worry on Jacks face. "What happened?" she asked.

"Both the call and the e-mail were sent from the same cell. But they can't trace it." Jack explained.

Cam looked up. "We're dealing with a serial killer."

Everyone looked at her. She sighed. "He's playing a game. He knew we would try and trace the call and made it hard for us. Same with the e-mail. He sent us a picture of Dr. Brennan and is practically daring us to find her."

"We _have _been trying to find. We've been doing that for almost twenty years."

"But now he sends us a picture of her, and dangles it in our face."

Daisy gave her a look. "Since when are you a psychologist?" she asked, defending her husbands turf.

Cam glared at her. "I'm a former cop, remember? I've dealt with serial killers before."

At that moment, Parker burst into the office, followed by Sarah and Lance Sweets. He took one look at the screen and cursed. A look of fear fell over his eyes.

**Parker**

This is _bad. Very bad._

"What is it, Parker?" a breathless Sweets asked.

I swallowed. My throat was as dry as sandpaper. "That's a G-7 Dual Scope." I explained.

Sarah's eyes widened and she gasped. Everyone else looked confused.

"A what?" Angela asked.

"A G-7 Dual Scope is actually two scopes in one. It has a digital scope with a camera and a regular analog scope. The camera can take pictures and can operate in low-light conditions. However, operators don't like its ability to fail in the field and for that reason it also has a regular analog scope underneath as a backup," I explained. "This makes it perfect for assassination missions."

"B-b-but Cam j-just said that w-w-we were dealing with a serial killer!" Angela stammered.

_Serial Killers and operatives aren't mutually exclusive, _I thought. "Why would you say that Cam?"

"Cause this guy's playing with us. He sends us a picture and calls us-"

"Wait," Sweets interrupted, "He _called _ you?"

Cam sighed angrily. She didn't like to be interrupted. "He called Jack."

"What did he say?"

Jack looked at Sweets shrewdly. Sweets might be able to get a clew from what the caller said, or he might be bluffing. Like many in the Jefersonian, Hodgins thought that Psychology was a soft science. I had dealt with enough profilers to trust what they said. Ducky was nearing eighty, yet everyone listened up when he profiled a killer. Age hadn't blunted his mind at all.

"He said that he wanted my undivided attention."

"He's not a serial killer."

"How do you know?" I asked. I doubted even Ducky could get that much out of a single line.

"The scope is used by the military for assassinations, right?"

"Yep." I had to do a few special ops when I was in the Force Recon. I knew that scope.

"Well, wouldn't he have gotten large amounts of attention from his superiors before he got the mission?"

"Yeah, they checked my _entire _life before they let me into Force Recon." unfortunately, I wasn't kidding. It had made Tim's background check on me easier when I started dating Sarah. He know had _a lot _of stuff to blackmail me with now.

"Well, why would he need _more _attention?"

"Cause he's _crazy?" _Angela offered.

"Did you manage to trace his call and e-mail?"

"Nope," Jack said, "They were sent from over a dozen different cell towers at once."

"Tim showed me how to do that." Sarah offered, "But you need some skills and some high-tech equipment to do so."

"Another reason why he isn't a serial killer. He's hiding to well. He hasn't given us a clue to find him. There is no thrill in being able to just get away with it. He's screwing with us." Sweets finished, angrily.

Sarah had a look of annoyance on her face. "Then who the hell _is _he?"

**Trev**

I burned the body and the evidence. Then I drove back to the motel I was staying at, munching on the S'mores I made for the trip back. I parked my old Toyota Tundra 2015 and went to my room.

The second I opened the door, I was tackled by one-hundred and twenty pounds of Asian happiness.

**All right, i know i didn't get to Trevs past yet, im getting to it. and there is a new rule:_ I DEMAND REVIEWS! I SHALL ONLY UPDATE WHEN I GET AT LEAST 1 REVIEW FROM 3 DIFFERENT PEOPLE_**!


	7. Advice and Prayers

** All right, your reviews have been excellent, and I shall keep my end of the bargain. Spoilers for Wannabe in the Weeds.**

** Lisa**

The second I heard the door unlock, I dropped my disgusting motel-room coffee and launched myself him, bursting with joy.

"Jon!" I cried as I almost tackled him. I squeezed him tight.

"Can't... breathe..."

"Oops," I let him go. Jon towered over my 5'5'' frame. He gave me a gentle hug back.

"Lisa, what are you doing here?" _Uh-oh, _I thought, _He's angry._

"I was worried about you." I quickly explained.

"Lisa, its dan- wait, _how did you find me?_"

I shifted my weight nervously. As much as he didn't want me involved with his work _at all_, he sure as hell did not want me to be able to find him on mission. That was very dangerous for him and me.

For some reason I felt like I was in the principle's office. American principle, not North Korean.

"Wait," he said. Jon started to give himself a pat down. "Did you put a tracer on me... _again?_"

_Time to change the subject, _I thought. "Why are wearing that?" I gestured towards his outfit, "You look like a hitch-hiker."

He took to long to answer. "Stop trying to change the subject. Did you?"

I seized the opportunity. "Oh my God! You realized that to,_ did you?!"_ This might be the key to winning this argument. Its been going on for months now.

"_Did you put a tracer on me?"_

No such luck. Damn. I bit my lip. His eyes widened as he put the dots together. "The doughnut!" he exclaimed.

Sure, I placed a tracer I stole from his stores in a doughnut I gave him before he left. Yes, I knew he couldn't resist my baking. Of course I knew it was morally questionable and was something you see in bad sitcoms. But every time he went on assignments I went nearly crazy with worry.

"How did you even get the equipment to _use_ it?"

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out what looked like a PDA. It was actually multipurpose device with such advanced software that it could hack even the Federal Reserve. It even held iTunes 6 and Mp 12s.

He snatched it out of my hands. "Do you _know _how much grief Bin gave me for losing this?"

"I'm sorry! Its just that you've been getting more assignments than usual and I was worried and I didn't-" he pulled me into his arms and kissed me on the lips. I happily obliged.

When we finally disengaged, I asked "Hmmm, uh?"

He chuckled a little. "I'm kinda touched."

This time I gave him a small laugh. He put me down.

"I need advice on something."

**Trev**

She sat on the bed and crossed he legs. "Lets hear it."

I sighed. "My... teacher, when it came to using a sniper, was a former Ranger named Seeley Booth." She stiffened. I purposely didn't talk about my job, or my training. "He worked for the FBI and was the liaison with the Jeffersonian."

"The museum?"

"It also has a crime lab. A damn good one, if the stories are half true. Any way, part of the agreement was that the FBI let their, the Jeffersonian's, forensic anthropologists into the field."

"Why would the FBI do that?"

"Because forensic anthropologists are rare, only a hundred of them in the US. Moving on," I said before she could interrupt, "Booth was partnered with Dr Temperance Brennan. Booth trained me in the first year of their partnership. He whined, moaned, and complained about her nonstop."

"Why?"

"Apparently, she was abrasive, arrogant, and obnoxious. But he secretly liked her."

"Did he say that?" she asked, surprised.

"Nope. But I read it off his face."

"Oh."

I smiled. She had learned to respect my ability to read people. "He started to come around to her later. Eventually, they became good friends. I got curious, so I... spied on them."

"And?" she asked eagerly. Her bakery was the center of gossip for Little Korea. I guess she never figured me as the gossip type.

"They were so in love with each other, but so oblivious to it. It was like watching an episode of _The Nanny._"

She gave me a confused look. "Oh, right. The reruns ended ten years ago." I hated the fact that they cryogenicly froze me for thirteen years. That's another story. "Point is, they loved each other but were to afraid to admit it."

"Interesting." she stroked her non-existant beard. "I take it you will get to the point soon, right?"

"Today, I saw Brennan again. Only she was living under an alias, Joy Keenan. And it looked like she has a daughter. His daughter."

She gave me a confused look. "You don't usually care about others lives. Why hers?"

"Booth died almost twenty years ago. He never would have met his daughter. She probably doesn't know who her father was."

"That doesn't answer my question."

I smiled, and remembered my friend. "Booth taught me more than how to use a sniper rifle. He taught me how to keep my morality with my job. It was because of his advice that I saved you." I leaned forward and my smile got wider as I took on her wide, beautiful face. I didn't deserve her. "And I thank God everyday for that advice.

She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. Short and sweet. "So whats the question?"

"Brennan is hiding for a reason, most likely to hide from the pain of loss. But everyone deserves to know her their father is."

She kissed me again. "Every girl deserve to know who their father was. Brennan will heal." she kissed me deeply.

When I surfaced for air, I said "No sex."

"Damn!"

**Christie**

Mom had been out for a total of seventeen hours. By the time that she was released from the hospital, the sun was setting for the day after the graduation ceremony. We had made it to Jake's truck when I remembered what day it was.

"It's Sunday!" I gasped.

Mom groaned. "Christie, I just got released from the hospital. Can't we skip it?" she pleaded, "Just this once?"

"Nope."

She turned to Jake. "Uh, Christie, my hair is all messed up," He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, further ruffling it. "I can't go into the House of God looking like this. He will laugh at me." he looked into my eyes with his emerald greens. Traitor.

I opened his truck bed and took out a water bottle. "Take off you shirt," I instructed.

His eyes widened in alarm. Nevertheless, he did as he was told. I focused on _not _staring at his well muscled chest. Gramps was a avid weightlifter, and had forced Jake to do the same when he adopted him. In turn, his chess-team grandson had forced him to play chess on Mondays. I liked the results of this arrangement.

I dumped the water on his head.

"What the-" he cried. If it was hard not to stare before, now it was almost impossible not to jump him _right now_. I think Mom wouldn't mind, which was the worst part. She had telling me to make a move on him since I first met him.

I reached up(he had almost eight inches on me) and using my fingers, I combed over his hair to one side. Not professional, but neat.

"Problem solved," I said as I climbed into the drivers seat.

He turned to Mom and said "I tried."

~*~

While at church, I sent a prayer to God.

_My Birthday is tomorrow. I turn eighteen, and all I really want, other than the courage to ask Jake out and for Mom to be safe, is to know who my father is. So, if it isn't to much, can you send me a sign, or clue? Anything, please._

~*~

I dreamed that night.

_Where was I? It looked like some sort of bar. There was alcohol around, by the smell. There was a stage, with a piano and mike stand. The stage was well lit, so a karaoke bar, maybe? _

_ That's when I spotted Mom._

_ Only she wasn't Mom. Not the Mom I knew anyway. She was younger. About as old as when she joined the LAPD. Maybe a few years younger._

_ And she didn't have that sad aura. She wasn't sad._

_ I looked at the man in front of her. He was slightly older, maybe a year or two. He had brown hair and warm brown eyes. And he had the look of protection. Like he wouldn't anything bad happen to you._

_ "Whats going on?" Mom asked him, "Why did you call me here, Booth?"_

_ Booth, huh? I liked the name. Sounded familiar._

_ "Your need to sing in front of a live audience," he said gesturing to the people around him, "It innate, Bones."_

_ Bones?! What the hell? Mom hates nicknames._

_ She gave a small smile. "No way."_

_ "Hey, I got the music, the frivolity. What else do you need?"_

_ A few people started to clap and cheer. A bearded man in the back said "Come on, Dr Brennan, you can do it! We're here for you!"_

_ Dr Brennan? Mom was smart, but a doctor?_

_ The piano started playing. I recognized the song. It was _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. _Another...man? Stood up. He was really young though. I doubted he could by a drink._

_ "We're very controlled, Dr Brennan," he had a soothing voice, "I think it is a great idea to let yourself go._

_ "Really?"_

_ "Yeah" said Booth._

_ "What about you?" She asked the kid._

_ "Hey, I will be singing _Lime in the Coconut_ afterwords, and you will be extremely impressed. As was my Abnormal Psychology class in college."_

_ he went to college? He didn't look old enough to _drive.

_ "This opportunity," he continued, "is a gift from Agent Booth," he put a hand on Booth's shoulder and quickly dropped it at the resulting glare from the much larger man, "Trustyourself, trust __your friends. Let her rip, and let hear it!"_

_ With an incredulous look on her face, Mom walked towards the stage. Everyone cheered. Mom glanced at Booth. The resulting smile he gave her would light up the bar. She smiled in turn. Then, she striped her jacket and threw it onto the stage. She took the mike off the stand and begun singing"_

_I come home in the morning light,  
My mother says "When you gonna live your life right?" _

_ Mom sang it better than Lauper herself. Booth flipped open a gold Zippo lighter and lit it. He started waving it in the air slowly. I smiled_

_ And then, I felt something enter the room. A women, slightly overweight, was glaring at my mother with hat filled eyes. She said something. I couldn't hear. I was too close to the speakers. She said it again._

_ Booth turned. She pulled out a gun. She whispered "This is for us." she fired. I screamed "NO!"_

_ Booth launched himself in front of Mom. His shoulder jerked as it took the bullet. He crumpled._

_ Mom was next to him in an instant. Fat girl looked shocked. It quickly turned to hate, however and she prepared to fire again. Mom grabbed Booth's gun and with a look of pain and rage, put a bullet through her throat._

_ Mom dropped the gun and placed her hand over his wound. "Booth, your gonna be fine," she whispered, worry painfully obvious in her voice. I knelt next to them. They ignored me."I'm right here, you can do this. Your gonna be fine." Mom's voice became more urgent. "You can make this. Come on!" she pleaded, "Come on, Booth! Come on, _Come on! Booth come on! Your gonna make this!" _Tears welled in her eyes, "come on, Booth no!" The dream faded away..._

~*~

I woke with a gasp. Tears stung my eyes.

I launched myself out of bed and began to put on warmer clothes. I had to see a friend.

I think God answered my prayer.

**All right, same terms as before. 1 review from three different people = an new chapter.**

**The episode I described is Wannabe in the weeds. **


	8. The Plan

** I am so grateful for all good reviews! And to answer the request of EarthboundAngel, here is another chapter.**

** Trev **

In a way, I guess its lucky that Lisa had my old(older?) PDA. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to watch the feed from the cameras in the Jeffersonian and make this call untraceable. I waited until the time said 1600, EC _exactly _when I hit _send _ on the number.

Hodgins picked up immediately. I could see them try and trace it. It wouldn't work, but that wouldn't stop them from trying. I liked the attitude.

"_Hodgins_."

"Good afternoon, Dr Hodgins," I put on my best psychopath voice. It was a doozy to. Cool, calm, collected, and just a hint of crazy thrown in. it took me months to develop. You should hear me do Kelso from _Scrubs._ The older version, not the one in its now 23rd season. It is almost as old as _The Simpsons _now.

"_Where is she?"_

"Now, that is for me to know, and you to learn later." I saw Sweets say something. Something about how I may _sound _like a serial killer, but I don't use the _syntax _of one.

"_Your not a serial killer, you know."_

"Really? And what lead you to that conclusion?"

"_A serial killer would have given us a clue. He would have needed a thrill. You haven't given us anything yet."_

_ They're good. _"That is not entirely true. I have given you a lovely picture of Dr Brennan."

"_Which we can get _nothing _from!"_

Thank you Portable Photo-shop Ap. "It is not my fault you are incompetent."

What was Sweets thinking. I saw his head jerk up, realization on his face. _"He is jerking us around! This is nothing but a game to him!" _Well, Booth said he was good. Now I can say first hand he was right.

Not abandoning my psychopath voice, I continued, "Ha ha, not bad Dr Sweets. I see that Booth was right about how skilled you are."

Now their was silence. At the other end, Hodgins said in a strangled voice, "_You knew Booth?"_

Not wanting to abandon my persona, I said, "I guess you could say that. He might have... wronged me in some way," to keep the tone consistent with what I was saying, I remembered when Booth stole my Twinkie. He was lucky he didn't wake up in a hospital.

"_What are you going to do with her?"_

_ Help her move on. _"Nothing to harm her... yet," at this point, I really did not want to worry them. Even I had a line when it came to jerking peoples chains.

"_What do you want us to do?"_

Now for the closer. "Nothing."

"_What do you mean 'nothing?!"_

_ "_I mean, for now nothing. I have a plan. You shall know your... role, I supose, in time."

"_What-"_

"Goodbye, Dr Hodgins." I hung up. I turned to Lisa. "Don't give me that look," I knew better than to use the same tone with her.

She rolled her eyes. "That was low," She had also watched the feed.. "Can't you see how worried they were?"

"Of course I could see it!" I exclaimed, "But I have a plan. If I'm right about her, she will search for her daughter to the end of the earth."

"And if you can't get the daughter to go along with it?"

"Her mother is a forensic anthropologist, a cop, _and_ a mystery writer. Her father was one of the greatest FBI Agents _ever_. The curiosity in genes _alone_ should guarantee that she should cooperate."

"And if you're wrong?"

I knew that she didn't want to hear another argument, I said "Then I'm screwed."

Satisfied with that answer, she plopped down on the bed. She pulled out a magazine. The Asianic writing confused me. "That's not Korean."

She looked up, giving me the _no duh, _look, "How observant of you! It's Cambodian."

What? I spoke nine languages, including Han Chinese and Korean, and read both languages. Why was she learning Cambodian? "Why are you learning Cambodian?" I wasn't even sure that it was a internationally recognized language.

"Cause I want to learn a third language."

Huh? "Why not one that I speak? I'll teach you," I exclaimed. "It'll be fun." I was secretly worrying. This was new. I didn't like it when thing rocked the boat.

"Cause..." why was she doing this to me? "I wanna skill that you don't have."

Say what now? "You _bake! _You make doughnuts that makes God jealous!"

"I've seen you make frog guts edible!" she said. All right, _one _time, and it has to be British Swamp Frogs. "You can make a full course meal out of grass clippings and two dead rats!" That one was a bit of a over statement. I'd need three rats, "I guess, you can cook just fine, but I need to know I have some thing that you don't."

Okay, I can read people like books, but women, they confuse me. Whether they are American, like my sister, who I used to drive up the wall, or North Korean, like her, who used to be a prostitute, helped me on a mission, escaped with me, held onto my back while I swam nine miles in the freezing Sea of Japan, saved my life by swimming me to shore, and getting a Green Beret extraction team to take me to the battle ship, remembering me after I disappeared after I got her a fake green-card and bakery, and finally going out with me for three years(That's another story), I just can't predict them unless I have to kill them.

"I don't get it, but, if it's what you want, then okay," I was freaking out.

"Your freaking out, aren't you?" Okay now _that's _just a little spooky.

"Like Mr Monk in a dumpster." Again with the confused look. I rolled my eyes, "Like a neat-freak germophobe in a dumpster." Now that got a reaction.

"Aww," she hugged me, "It's okay."

Wait, did I just have a moment from a bad sitcom?

**Christie**

I plopped down on the couch. Mom had a beer in one hand and a _Guns and Ammo _magazine in another. Now wasn't the time for a redneck joke however.

She looked at me and said "Bad dream?"

Like she even had to ask. I, for some reason, always dress myself first thing after a bad dream. I knew she was down here because doctor said she shouldn't sleep for twenty-four hours after that concussion. It was only after threatening to shove a sleeping pill down my throat that she made me go to bed.

"Aww," she pulled me into a gentle hug, "It was only a dream."

"Felt really real," I whispered.

"Just a random firing of neurons from your brain," she explained gently. Mom, always rationalizing everything.

"Really?" I couldn't keep the sarcasm from my voice. She reached for her beer, "Cause it seemed awfully real, _Bones_." the reaction I got was a _bit _unexpected.

She gasped and dropped the beer. The smell of alcohol brought the memories of the dream back.

"Shit," she cursed. Whether about the nickname or the spill, I don't know. Probably both. She got up and made her way to the kitchen to get some cleaning material. I followed Mom.

"Hey Mom," I asked. I hesitated. We avoided this subject for a reason.

"Yes, honey?" That nickname must me something. She only called me "honey" when she was riled.

"Who's my father?" there it was, out in the open.

She stiffened. I knew this was a sensitive subject for her, but I had to know. The events of the past forty-eight hours had only increased my resolve to know. I had decided to ask and not take silence for an answer on my birthday long ago. So I plowed through it.

"While at church," I began, "I asked God-"

"God is a-"

"Let me finish!" I snapped. She looked hurt. I didn't need to be interrupted on this one, "I asked God to send me a … sign, anything, about who my father is." I took a deep breath, "And the dream I just had, I think it was a sign."

Her chin jutted forward a bit. She was ready for an argument. "Explain this dream then."

I sighed. This would be difficult, "I was in a bar. A karaoke bar. And you were there. But you were younger, and you didn't look so sad," she sighed exasperatedly at this. She usually responded with sarcasm when I pointed this out. It was the only time she ever was sarcastic, "Anyway, you spoke with a man. His name was Booth."

Okay, now that is a surprise. She gasped. Tears started to well. She quickly turned and got her cleaning solution out from under the sink. She quickly got up and power-walked to the living room. Oh no, she wasn't running this time.

"Mom" no response, "Mom!" she knelt in front of the mess, "FINE! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS SHIT, THEN I WILL FIND OUT MYSELF!"

I ran out the room, the house and began walking to Jake's.

~*~

I had knocked once, and the door opened immediately. It wasn't Jake or Gramps. The stranger was easily 6'5'', around 200-220 pounds, and average white guy. But, he had a relaxed, dangerous air, like a loaded gun on a table. I knew instantly this was not a guy to mess with.

Even though his face was completely relaxed, his eyebrows shot in the air in surprise. "Hmm," he said, "This wasn't planned for."

"Umm," I didn't expect their to be company. Other than me, the Brekenwitz household didn't get visitors often, "I'll comeback later."

"Nonsense!" he said with an air that I knew what he was talking about, "I need to talk to you."

"But you don't even know me."

"Not personally, but I know that you just had a very angry conversation with you mother. I know that it is kinda spooky that you had a dream about Booth's 'death'" he said the last part in air quotes.

"Who is Booth?" I had a feeling like I knew already. But I needed confirmation.

He stepped aside. "Come in and I will tell you."

Warily, I stepped into the foyer. I could see Gramps and Jake at the end of the hall, sitting at the kitchen table. I joined them.

Jake's Grandpa, Gramps as he insisted I call him, was Jake's older clone, yet mental opposite. Jake was a member of the 'geeks'. He was on the chess team and found writing essay's relaxing. Gramps was a avid weight lifter and boxed, even his _advanced_ old age. Jake now weight lifted himself(I just _loved _the results) and was now teaching the former commando the art of chess.

"All right, who is Booth?" I said. Right down to buisness. I wanted answers for eighteen years.

"First explain the dream."

"How do know about the dream?"

He gestured to the table. A PDA was on it, "Bugged you house."

"You what?!"

"Ah, shut up." who the hell did he think he was? "I honestly don't care that you sing _Living on a Prayer _in the shower." HE BUGGED MY BATHROOM?!

Jake's head snapped up "You sing _Living on a Prayer_ when you shower?"

I couldn't help but blush. "None of you business." I instantly felt sorry for that. He didn't mean any harm.

Gramps spoke up "Kinda like you and _Dead or Alive_ huh, sonny?"

Now it was my turn to stare at Jake. Before I could say anything, however, the stranger spoke up, "Okay, I love Bon Jovi as much as the next guy, but can we move on?"

"Who are you anyway?"

"Trev."

"What kinda of name is that?"

"My name. Now stop stalling!" he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

I sighed. "I was in a bar. My mom was there, but she was younger. About the time she joined the LAPD, but maybe a few years younger. She was talking to a man. Big, brown hair, brown eyes. Maybe a few years older. He called her Bones, for some reason." Trev gave out a small chuckle. He had answers, but it seemed the only way I would get them is if I told him what he already knew, "and he tried to convince her to go up on the stage and sin _Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. _ I know you love that song Gramps!" I said, before he interrupt, "He didn't entirely convince her, and this... I think he might have been over 18, but not old enough to buy a drink. Anyway, this kid helped convince my mom to go on stage and sing. He called her Dr Brennan." the name sounded vaguely familiar, now that I thought about it. "And my mom went for it. She sang the first versus in the song. But then this fat women came in and try to shoot my mom." my voice cracked a bit, "Booth took the bullet, and mom killed the fat chick."

"The bullet went straight through her throat, right?" Trev asked.

I eyed him warily. "Yeah. How do you know?"

"I read the report. Booth was a good friend of mine." he said.

"Was?" I asked.

"He didn't die," Trev began, "At least not then. He was sent to the ER, and the doctors faked his death to draw a crook out of hiding."

"Who was Booth?" asked Jake. I sent him a mental thought of thanks.

"Agent Seeley Booth," I gasped. Seeley was my middle name. I liked it. It made me unique, "was an FBI Agent partnered with a forensic anthropologist, Dr Temperance Brennan. They would solve murders where to body was _extremely _degraded. The two eventually became good friends." he finished.

Now for the big question. "Booth... is my father, isn't he?"

If he was surprised that I asked that out-loud, suddenly, then Trev must be very good at hiding things, "Not a doubt in my mind. He called Brennan 'Bones' because she was the country's foremost forensic anthropologist. She could read a person's skeleton like a book, if half the stories are true." he had the tone of someone impressed.

"So... my mom... is...?"

"Brennan? Yep. And did they love each other? Yeah, it was like watching an episode of _The Nanny_."

"You mean like these two?" Gramps asked.

"Gramps!" Me and Jake said at the same time.

Trev chuckled. "Maybe, I'll tell ya in a few hours if they agree to it."

I eyed him warily. "Agree to what?"

He sighed forcefully. "Your mom never got over your father's death. And yes, he is dead." he added as he saw my distraught face, "But I have a plan to help her get over that."

I focused on him. As much as I wanted to know about my father, helping Mom move on is high priority. "Whats the plan?"

"I'll take you and Jake to DC, where they worked. I'll force her dig up memories that she buried. She will have to interact with her friends again, face the pain to find you. She will travel to hell and back to keep you safe, so getting her to follow isn't the problem. Its getting you to _go_." he finished.

"I'm gonna need some clothes," I said without hesitation. Mom had to learn that being sad all her life wasn't worth is. I'm a kid and I new that.

Trev smiled, and seemed to relax more. Suddenly, he didn't seem as dangerous. "Make a list. I'll sneak in and grab them for you unnoticed."

"Sure you can get in without alerting the neighbors?" Jake asked.

"I personally assassinated nine Chinese Generals in their own beds without their partners knowing. But a bedroom in Oregon? In suburbia? I'll have to take that risk. It'll be hard that's for sure." I am not sure he was kidding about the first part.

"What about Mom? She will follow, but how will she know where I went?"

"I'll tell her."

Everyone looked at Gramps. "But Gramps, you could get in serous trouble!" exclaimed Jake.

"I've lived through four wars, and waiting for you to to date finally. I can survive." He explained. I blushed at the last part. I would date Jake in heartbeat if he had any romantic feelings for me. Obviously he didn't. It would only make our friendship weird.

"She can't pursue legal action against me for kidnapping" Trev explained, "She is 18, after all, and it is consentual. But this could turn very bad, very fast if you tell her. I'll inform her over the phone."

"You think she ain't gonna be a broken wreck after you launch this harebrained scheme of yours?" he said, "She'll be in need of support, someone to give her courage. I've seen Russians attack German guns without hope or courage, and it wasn't pretty," he sighed, "what you are proposing can be potentially more destructive than that."

"She's ready to face the past." Trev spoke without doubt.

"And if she isn't?"

"She will do it anyway, if only to see her daughter again."

I swallowed. This would cause my Mom a lot of pain, and I couldn't take any of it for her.

"Are we gonna get started?" Jake said it before I could.

Trev flashed me a look.

"Make the list. Our plane leaves in three hours."

**Okay, another chapter, same rules apply. You want a new chapter I want reviews. I had taken hits from playing football my whole life, so I don't care if they are bad. Happy Easter!**


	9. How I knew him

**I dedicate this page to all those who have fallen in the defense of our country. You are always in our prayers.**

** Trev**

I was back within thirty minutes. I had stuffed some shirts, pants, ugh, underwear, and God help me, _pads. _I didn't know how long we were going to be in DC. Better safe than sorry. I did _not _want to have to go to a corner store. This was preferable. Wait, I wasn't usually this much of a prude. Oh God _no!_ _I was turning into BOOTH!_

Don't get me wrong, Booth was a good guy, and someone I am proud to say I looked up to. But the man could be _dense_. I mean, I wasn't joking when I said that observing Booth and Brennan was like watching _The Nanny_. Only those two couldn't see the attraction. Among other reasons, though by comparison to Brennan he was very normal, he was kinda quirky. I know I'm the last one to call others quirky when I take personal pride in the fact that I stole $20 million from Fort Knox using only dental floss, and doing so while _buck naked_(I was bored, don't worry I returned it). But come-on, that belt buckle? I don't care how completely awesome it was, it was feaky to.

Back on topic, it was thirty minutes that we were in my truck and driving though the town. I liked my truck. Dad drove a Toyota Tundra, and we got in an accident on the way from school. No one got hurt, but we got a cracked windshield and a dented bumper. The other car was _totaled_. That was the beginning of my love affair with trucks. Now I was driving an antique. The Toyota Tundra 2015 model was out of place in 2029 when most cars were powered by Hydro Battery. But that came at the cost of weight and torque. Luckily, after I woke from my ice-nap, I read up on this new tech and _really _upgraded the engine. I already had a patent and was raking in the dough from the rebounded American automotive industry(I maybe an unrepentant capitalist, but I'm still a patriot). The fact that I used preexisting military tech didn't bother me.

Jake, Little Booth, and I were riding in silence. The sound makers(Hydro Battery run engines just don't give you that satisfying _purr_) were making the only sound. It was kinda an answered. I was about thinking about how I would explain Lisa to them, my youth(I was about thirty, so following that logic Booth should have died around the time I was ten. I dislike the fact that they froze me, but then again, if they didn't, I wouldn't have met Lisa. That didn't stop me from enjoying the memories of me killing those responsible.)

It was Little Booth who broke the silence, "Um," she said, "Did my father have any family?"

I was actually surprised she hadn't asked sooner, "Ugh, yeah. He has a brother, who is married to an insurance clerk and as two sons." Jared had married her a year after Booth died.

"I...I have cousins?" That kinda tipped me off. She had a whole family that she didn't know of.

"On your mom's side as well. Her brother, Russ, married a woman named Amy and has two step daughters and a son."

She had a vacant look on her face. "Wow" was all she could say.

"And it gets better," I said. This was going to be a _major _bomb_, _"Booth had a son. His name is Parker, and he has recently married the sister of his boss." I couldn't help but laugh at this one. Sarah and I had actually met. We were one the few survivors of what I liked to refer to as Project: BAD SCI-FI STUFF. Really, what good is cryogenics when you have to relive Freshman year _three times?_

She looked at me. Her eyes started to fill with worry. She took deep breaths. "Hey you alright?" I said quickly. I recognized the signs of a panic attack.

"Christie?!" Jake shouted in the back. They were both in the back. Only Lisa gets to sit shotgun in my truck.

I reached into the glove box. I had some sedatives in there for sniper missions, but I didn't need them. Jake had come to the rescue.

"Christie, look at me," he began, "Whatever it is your worried about, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, whatever it is that's scaring you, I'll face it with you. All right?"

Her breathing began to return to normal. I saw in the rear veiw mirror that Jake had a calming hand on her shoulder. Huh. I filed this away for future reference. It might come in handy if I wanted to jerk his chain later.

They seemed to forget that I was here. I took this opportunity to study their relationship. Her face seemed to light up like Christmas day when she saw him. She didn't see that I could see that she made gaga eyes at him. Neither could he see that she made gaga eyes at _him_. So, the old man was right. These two are like _The Nanny._ The way he sprung into action, it reminded me of the way Booth would always protect her.

Aw, hell no. Please tell me they weren't like _those two_. _One_ of that was enough for my life. If they were, I swear to God, I will just get them hammered and lock them in a motel room, just like what Booth and Brennan did.

"So," Jake began, after she had completely calmed down, "What's worrying you?"

I was kinda curious about that myself. She said "What if... what if my brother doesn't like me?"

I laughed at that. That seemed to startle them. They had forgotten I was in here, it seemed, "Parker Booth is enough like his father that he will love you unconditionally just for being his sister."

Jake eyed me suspiciously. Kid would make a good operator. Fit, smart, and doesn't trust anyone. Except maybe Little Booth, "How do you know?"

"Looked at his psychological reports," I explained, "Looked as if the doc just cut and pasted from Booth's reports."

"Psych reports don't mean much in real life."

"Yeah, but its what we got," I countered, "I snuck into a Chinese Prison with doodle on a napkin as a map. Surprisingly accurate. My point is, use what you have. Besides, Seeley Booth had a personality that stuck on people."

"Trev?"

"Yeah, Christie?"

"How did my father die?"

I sighed. Booth was my friend, but I knew enough about people, even emotionally stunted people like Brennan, not to answer this one, "Your gonna have to ask your mom that."

"You don't know?" she asked, surprised.

"No, I know," I answered, "But when your mom answers, that's when we will _know _that she has moved on."

"What was my father like?"

I pondered how to answer that one. Booth was a friend, a mentor, a brother in every sense of the word. Even now, he was closer to me than my actual brother. I decided to start from the beginning, well my beginning, "When I was eighteen, I had just graduated Recon school. I was sent to Afghanistan, as part of the War on Terror. On my first day there, my squad was hit with an IED. I was the only survivor. I... changed, after that. I became obsessed with fighting and killing the enemy. I spent the next three years in almost continuous combat. I was selected for a project called Project: PRODIGOUS WARRIOR. It took people like me, promising young, bloodied, damaged soldiers, and advanced them. I became the youngest Sergeant Major in Marine Corps history. I was selected to go into the deepest tiers of the project, I was chosen for Black Ops.

"Your father was asked to teach me to use a Sniper Rifle. He had previously been in the Rangers and was one of the best snipers alive. When I met him, I was the picture definition of a psychopath-"

"You aren't now?" asked Jake.

Ignoring the comment, I continued, "And he had just started his partnership with Brennan, your mom. Your father was a very religious man, and had joined the FBI to atone for the lives he took as a sniper. While teaching me to use a sniper, he also brought me out of my psychopathic tendencies. Not completely, but he started me on the path to regain my humanity. I would have done anything Booth asked me. It's why I want your mom to recover from his death."

**all right, I like reviews. I had finally revealed what I want about Trev's past.**

** 1 Reveiw(3 People)=1 New Chapter.**


	10. Surprises

**All right, sorry about not updating sooner. The Writers Block monster again reared his ugly head. Anyway, here is the next chapter**

** Christine**

We stopped at an small, nameless motel about fifteen minutes past the town's edge. From its looks it was cheap, private and not well known. Think something that Congressman like when they want to boink their interns.

I looked at Trev. He unbuckled and got out. After he slammed the door, I asked Jake, "Why are we hear?"

He shrugged, "Maybe he kept his gear here."

I saw him meet a small woman, "Ooh," this might be interesting, "I think we might be meeting his handler."

"That's not his handler."

I raised my eyebrows and gave him a small smile, "The usual bet?" I challenged.

"Your on!"

"And what's you bet?"

"Girlfriend."

I laughed. A special operator with a girlfriend? No way. "Your gonna have that hair for a long time."

"Just you watch."

The trucks doors opened. Trev and a small, Asian women with a wide, kind and open face climbed into the front seat.. Trev spoke "Christie, Jake," He began, "This is Lisa, my girlfriend."

"Damn it!" I cursed.

Jake clapped his hand and laughed evilly.

Trev turned around and looked at me. He raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Care to share?" He asked.

"We made a bet," Jake explained, "I bet that she was your girlfriend, she bet that she was you handler."

Lisa chuckled, "And what was the price of loosing?" she asked in slightly accented English.

"Looser has to dye their hair the color of the winner," I answered dully.

Trev looked at Jake's light brown hair. "I'm guessing he lost this type of bet not to long ago."

"You would be correct." Jake said.

"What was the terms of this bet?"

"I bet that I could wait until after the graduation ceremony until I punched Malcolm Kallen in the face," I explained, "And he said I couldn't."

Trev's gaze shifted as his eyes went to the upper right corner, "Malcolm Kallen was the kid in the back of the squad-car, wasn't he?" He asked.

I stiffened as realization came crashing upon me, "_You were the sniper in the tree!" _I screached.

Trev flinched and rubbed his ear, "Can you scream in my other one so I go deaf in both?" He asked, "And I'm not a sniper."

"_You tried to kill my mother!"_

_ "_No, I didn't. I used a fifty cal at three hundred yards. That's a knife fight for that type of gun." He explained, "I'm no where near as good as Booth was, but I was aiming to miss."

_"Forgive me if I don't believe you!"_

_ "_I _told _you something like this was going to happen," Lisa said, "Wait, you _shot _at her?!"

"Yeah, so?"

Jake interrupted, "Most people think shooting others is significant," I know Jake cares as much about Mom as I do, but it still annoyed me that he could be so calm. I was always the emotional one.

"Sometimes kid, if you do it enough, it ceases to be thought of as important."

"You're a psychopath."

Lisa looked back at him, "He takes pride in that."

I was seething inside, "Explain," I demand through clenched teeth.

Trev sighed and started the engine. The purr of the engine made me jump. I was used to the quiet humming of a regular car, "I was assigned to kill that drug dealer." He explained, "He was using his supply network to get weapons into the country. These weapons were put into cache's for Chinese clandestine agents so they could sabotage the supply lines to the lines in the south. Your mom overheard the gunshot, and I thought on my feet. The only reason I shot at your mom was because you told her my position. Until you did that I was okay with just sitting tight."

"The entire time the place was closed down?" I said, "That would have taken _days_"

"I... am... a... _Marine." _He stressed, "I could have stayed in that tree for _weeks _if I had to. It wouldn't be harder than hiding _in _the carcass of an alligator for forty-eight hours." He visibly shuddered.

Fortunately, Lisa leaned close to him and whispered "One of these days, we have to talk about your exploits and write them down. A couple of action writers would pay through the nose to get these ideas."

"Lets start now!" I said, "Have any family?"

"Weren't you just mad at me?"

Jake pitched in, "She does that a lot. She probably already forgave you."

I slugged him in the shoulder. I managed to not rub my sore hand. His muscles were _hard_. "Ow!" he cried.

"Hey! Hey!" Trev said in the front, "No fighting or I will pull this truck over!"

"He started it!" I whined. Jake just rolled his eyes.

"I don't care who started it, I will finish it!"

"Ugh," I complained, "Anyway, do you have any family?" I asked without hope.

"An older brother and a younger sister."

Both me and Lisa sat up straighter. Jake's eyes flashed in his direction. I guess none of us thought that Trev would have any loved ones. Me and Jake sure, but his _girlfriend _not knowing? That's some trust issues.

"I've been trying to get you to open up for _years!"_ she complained, "Why do you answer to her?"

"Cause" he said, "I know you won't stop hounding me, and i've learned, in the short time i've known her, that she is enough like Booth that she won't take me not answering for an answer. Though Booth wouldn't have questioned me about something as personal as family."

Lisa turned and gave me a grin, "Us two," she gestured at us with her finger, "Will be _great _friends."

"I'm doomed aren't I?" asked Trev.

"Totally," replied Lisa.

"So," I began, "What is your brother like?"

"You mean what did he used to be like?" Trev replied, "I haven't met him in years, and he thinks i'm dead."

"Why would he think that?" asked Jake.

"Cause I faked my own death," he replied nonchalantly, "Oh, don't look so startled. Black Ops, remember?"

"What does he do now?" asked Lisa.

"Homicide Detective with the Baltimore PD."

"And your sister?"

"US Marshall in Albuquerque. Fugitive Task Force."

"So, your entire family is law enforcement?"

"Only my immediate, not including Mom and Dad." I saw his hand tighten on the wheel as he mentioned his parents. Lisa put a comforting arm on his shoulder. I was curious.

"And-"

"Private." he replied before I could finish. I sensed that it was a sensitive issue. Maybe later then.

We arrived at the airport without talking. Trev looked skittish as he left all his weapons in the car. We boarded our airliner without inquiry. Good news was that Trev got us first class. He probably had frequent flier miles out the ass, so that wasn't an issue. But me and Jake also got first class. He had money to burn, apparently.

He took one look at me as we boarded and said, "You look like shit." I gave him my _say-what-now? _look. He rolled his eyes and pulled a small mirror out of his blue workout backpack. Wow. I really _did_ look like shit. I had only gotten about nine hours sleep for three days(I had stayed up all night with Jake at his house. I wish we were doing something that would make a ordinary parent gasp in shock. Mom had been encouraging me to jump him.)! "Its a nine hour flight," he continued, "Try to get some sleep."

I sat in the window seat next to Jake. Trev and Lisa were in isle seats next to us. I leaned my head against Jake's shoulder and promptly fell asleep as we took off.

**REMEMBER, I WANT THREE REVIEWS FROM THREE DIFFERENT PEOPLE!!!**


	11. WHERE IS SHE!

** Here it is, Brennan's actions after Christie left.**

** Joy**

I managed to wait until I heard the door slam. That was when I broke and began to sob.

_How? _I wondered, _how did she dream that night? _I had read reports about people that could see things others saw in their dreams, but the science, if their was any, was flimsy.

More important than _how, _was _what?_ I knew that she wanted to know who her father was. It had been hard, very hard, to raise her without a father figure. But in all my attempts to make her like me, she turned into a clone of her father. _Booth. _I missed him. Everyday. I couldn't begin to tell her what an amazing man he was. It hurt so much to even think about it.

What hurt more than his death, if that were possible, was the uncertainty. Did he love me back? Did he only think of me as a friend? Did he find me ugly, or pretty, or plain? These questions could never be answered. I was left in the dark, groping for answers. My scientist side, which I had tried to ignore for years to cultivate the growth of my cop side, demanded answers. They both demanded answers.

I finished cleaning the beer spill.

Now I waited for Christine to come back. So I could explain why I couldn't give her the answers she wanted.

I waited.

And waited.

Something is wrong. I looked at my watch. Almost noon. I couldn't take it anymore. I picked up the phone and dialed.

After a few ring the line picked up. "_Hello?" _an older voice asked.

"Mr. Breckenwitz, it Joy Keenan. I was wondering if my daughter was there? She left last night and she hasn't come back home yet."

_"She isn't here, Joy."_

Ice seemed to slide down my spine. When my daughter wasn't home, she was at Jake's house. "What do you mean she isn't there? Whenever she isn't at home or school she is _always_ there."

_"I mean that Christie isn't here. She was here. But she left."_

"_Where?!_" I asked franticly. Worry seemed to pool in my gut. My breathing got shallower.

_"I can't tell you," _I fell to my knees. I couldn't breathe.

I used to identify the remains of people who were only skeletons. That was a past life. I know this feeling. Last time I felt it was when I was fifteen. I wondered when my parents would come back. After the days went by, my hope began to fade. Suddenly, I wasn't the nearly fifty year old Sheriff. I wasn't the former SWAT officer or Bomb Squad member or cop. I was a fifteen year old girl who didn't know where a loved one was.

_"Joy?" _the gentle tone from the former commando brought me back, _"Come over. You're gonna need some comfort."_

~*~

I sat at the table, a cup of coffee in my hand. It was shaking. I didn't bring the drink to my lips, partly because I was afraid to spill and partly because the swill he drank could strip paint off a car. Christine had said that after a sip.

Marcus Breckenwitz stared at me with eyes that asked forgiveness. All I needed to do was find out what to forgive.

"Where is she?" I asked.

He shook his head, "I'm sorry kid," he used my least favorite nickname, "I cant tell ya."

My face contorted with rage, "What do you mean, '_You can't tell me'?" _my voice shook, "You either know where she is or you don't. If you did, you _will tell ME!"_ I reached across the table and grabbed him by the shirt. I pulled his massive frame toward me, "_WHERE IS SHE?!"_

His eyes again asked for forgiveness. He sighed and said "I can't tell you."

_"WHY?" _ I screamed. Tears blurred my vision. "_Why?" _I began to sob.

"I was told not to."

~*~

**Calson**

When Joy called, I was immediately assigned the case.

Just to clarify: I didn't not like Kennan. I didn't like her either. Most assume I don't like her because she took my job. On the contrary. She was able to gather evidence to put away those politicians. I had tried for over a year to get the evidence to put them away. She did it better than me. I watched, trying to learn how she did it.

We searched Brekenwitz's house first. I liked Marcus. We had beer every Tuesday when I was off duty. We would reminisce about our days in the service. Though I could do without a few of those stories about leave in Bangkok.

I dusted for prints. But something was wrong. Ordinarily, whenever you dust a house for prints, you get hundreds. This house was clean. Only Marcus' Prints, and they were on whatever he touched this morning.

Some one had cleaned up after themselves. Even the places that no one ever thinks about, like under the sink and behind the TV. I know Marcus isn't that good.

I cast my mind out, searching for people I know that could have this amount of skill in covert ops.

But Sergeant Major Jon Trevodur was long dead.

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	12. We never speak of this agian

**All right, I am breaking my rule just this **_**once, **_**and I expect twice the reviews after this chapter.**

** Jake**

"Are you sure we won't get caught?"

Trev rolled his eyes. In the few hours I have known him, I learned two things: A) when it came to black ops, he was _good_, and B) because he did black ops, he couldn't be trusted. Christie trusted him, though. Trusted him enough to follow him on this harebrained plan of his.

"I spent nine months in Tibet causing havoc for the Chinese Army," he explained, "I think I can get us into a _museum_."

He pulled out his PDA. The slight _beeps_ seemed to echo in the dark quiet of the storage area of the Jeffersonian. Suddenly his eyes shout up, "That's interesting." he said.

"What is?" asked Christie.

"Well, I was looping the security feeds so that a security guard won't find us," he explained, "But this feed," he showed us a video of a ornate, Egyptian style bed, "is already looped."

"How can you tell?" I asked. The time stamp was accurate.

He tapped the screen. The feed was replaced by lines of code. He pointed to one in particular. REPEAT/1023B45B6D. One line in thousands of code. That's _good_.

"What's that mean?" asked Christie.

"Its a code that allows the timer to still continue normally," I explained, "But it plays the feed in a loop."

Trev looked at me, "Were did you learn that?" he asked.

"Wrote an essay on computer espionage."

Seeing Trev's confused look, Christie explained, "He likes to write essays. He finds it relaxing. Pretty much wrote an essay on every subject imaginable."

"How big are these essays?"

"Longest one is a hundred pages long."

Trev whistled. Then his expression turned to mischievous, "Wanna see what someone's hiding?"

"Are you kidding?" asked Christie

"Hell yes!" I exclaimed.

Trev grinned in anticipation. He tapped the screen a few times. We gathered around the screen in anticipation.

MISTAKE.

"_Sweet Jesus, mother of Mary!"_

_ "Yabba-whatta?!"_

_ "HUH?!"_

_ "SHOULDN'T THERE BE BROKEN BONES?"_

_ "THEIR IS NO WAY W HUMAN IS THAT FLEXIBLE!"_

_ "TURN IT OFF!!!!!"_

Trev complied. He looked shaken. We were _all_ shaken.

"We never speak of this again," he said, "Agreed?"

"Yeah," agreed Christie in a whisper.

"No problem," I was probably gonna have nightmares about inhuman contortionists. Or worse. Ungentlemanly dreams about Christie.

**The reason that I am posting this chapter is that the previous ones were kinda devoid of humor. I know its short, but this is my way of remedying that.**

**I WANT SIX REVEIWS FOR THIS!!!**


	13. Spanish Soap Operas

**Sorry about not updating in a while. I couldn't keep the creativity bug in me and started another story, _Family Friend, _a Castle Fanfic. Plus, writers block.**

** Angela.**

I sat on the couch. My untouched coffee sits forlornly on the table. The sounds of the lab, indifferent to my mood, drift from below the balcony. I just want to be left alone, away from my coworkers, husband, son. I just want to sit here and wallow in my sadness.

"Ange,"

I turn my head and stare at Jack. He had changed from his suit and into t-shirt and jeans. It brought back memories from before Bren ran away.

"Ange, we'll find her."

That one sentence was enough to send me over the edge.

"How?" I croaked, "We searched for almost _two _decades!" my voice rose as I vented my anger over the past few days at him. "We called every agency and hired an army of private detectives to find her!"

"We have new evidence-"

"We spent _two days _going over that photo! We have _nothing!_" I launched my self off the chair and walked to the rail, "Nineteen _years _and we got-"

A flash of auburn hair and familiar face at a distance was all it took. I paused and ran off the balcony.

**Christine**

That Black Ops _prick! _He sneaks us into a federal building, which is a felony, and then _ditches us?!_ I would shove my foot where the sun don't shine if I had a chance. Because now, we are standing in a _very_ high tech lab, with no ID, wondering what to do next.

I stood there, fuming. Then I heard someone scream "_Brennan!" _and the sound of running heels. I turned toward whoever shouted my Mom's former name.

A pretty woman was running toward us with a look of hope, surprise, and happiness. Then it morphed into disappointment and confusion. She stood there, seeming to wonder what to do next. Apparently we were interesting because she walked over to us.

"Hi," she greeted, "I'm sorry, but I thought you were someone else. I'm Angela, Hodgins, by the way,"

"Christine," I wondered about telling her my last name(I was leaning toward Booth at the moment) but decided against it, "Who did you mistake us for, anyway?"

"An old friend of mine. You might have heard of her, Temperance Brennan?" Heard of her, lady, _live _with her.

"Ah," I need more info, "How close were you?" _Smooth, Christie, smooth._

"We were best friends," she said it as though I was already her friend. I liked this Angela. And then I realized that Jake had not introduced himself. That meant one thing.

"Oh, i'm sorry. This Jake, my best friend," he smiled at her and shook her hand. I sent him my _you-are-in-so-much-trouble_ look. He gulped but continued to smile. I hated it when he used me as a lab rat for his essays. Last time he studied my eating habits.

"Nice to meet you, Jake," she said in a slightly flirtatious tone, "So, how long have you to been going out?"

WHY DOES EVERYONE THIK WE GO OUT? _I mean, this lady has known us all of one minute, and she sees what everyone else sees!_ "We are not going out." I managed to keep my tone civil. Okay, we might not be going out, but a girl can dream, can't she?

"Why does every think we date?" Jake asked

"I know, we barely touch each other."

Angela exploded into a fit of laughter, "I'm sorry, butt this brings back memories!" she said through giggles.

"See you met Angela, Christie," a voice said behind me.

I turned and saw a Black Ops Prick standing behind me I slugged him in the shoulder.

Tried to, anyway. He grabbed my fist and yanked me past him. Jake immediately went into action, sliding into the MCMAP fighting stance he had observed from his drunk father beating him.

Trev held up a finger. The universal "wait" sign. He looked at his PDA. There was head phones leading from it. His face lit up. "_S__ì, sí!" _He chanted excitedly, then his face fell, _"__¿eh?__ ¡No, NO!__ ¡Por qué, Rosilita, por qué! __¡Te Cabarones! __¡Te cabarones enfermo__!" _He was sobbing by now. He pulled me into a hug and sobbed on my shoulder.

"Umm" this was awkward, "There, there?" and then I looked at the screen. Credits were rolling. Spanish credits.

"It's okay," he sniffed, "I can still do business. I'm okay."

"Umm, hi," greeted Angela, "I'm-

"Angela Montenegro, I know."

"Actually I got married. It's Angela Hodgins, now," she looked confused, "What were you crying about, and how do you know me?"

"_La Romance de la Casa. _Rosilita just rejected Javier's love," he wiped a tear forming in his eye. A black ops guy has a soft spot for a Spanish soap opera? "And i'm an old friend of Booth."

"Really?" she didn't sound convinced.

"Yes really. But not why i'm here." he placed a hand on my shoulder, "This is Christine Seeley Booth. Daughter of Seeley Booth and Temperance Brennan."

**Just because i am starting a new story doesn't mean i will abandon this one. remember, new reviews, new chapter.  
**


	14. Their Relationship

**You reviews have been overwhelming! I can't believe I have to start this the day after I finished the last chapter! Thanks guys and girls!**

** Trev**

Well, that bomb had a big explosion. Angela's eyes widened, her jaw drops, and her breathing hitched. Not bad. Now to add on to it. I snap my fingers in her face, "Earth to Angela. Hello?" I grinned. This was fun. It takes my mind off _La Romance de la Casa._ I want to shoot Francisco Pablo Maximus Monotoya Riquez. Even the name was a mouthful.

Anyway, that woke Angela up. She grabbed Little Booth's arm and started dragging her to an office. "Hey!" Christie protested. Interested I followed.

"Their is someone you _must _meet!" Angela squealed.

Christie shot me a death glare. Alright, maybe I didn't chose the best time to get a doughnut, but I was hungry! I shrugged and mentally said, _I don't know who either._ Well, I didn't. I can read people better than Booth could because I trained my self to find all the little muscle movements in their faces, but I can't read minds.

"Umm, who exactly do I need to meet?" she asked tentatively.

"Your brother Parker!" she squealed.

At this, Christie clammed up. She outright refused to move. She had a worried, _deer-in-head-lights_ look. Angela turned around. When she saw Little Booth's face, her own morphed to worry. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Jake once again sprung into action. He was at her side in an instant. All he did was give her hand a gentle squeeze. But she seemed to take strength from it. She cleared her throat and said, "Just a little nervous about meeting a family member I never knew about."

"How is your mom, anyway?" asked Angela. I suspect she is very good at controlling her emotions. Most of the time she chooses not to. She may even have the same level of control as Brennan. Her facial muscles seem to tell a different story than her tone.

Christie bit her bottom lip. A habit I noticed, "She always seemed... sad. Like she had an unnamed weight on her shoulders."

Angela's face fell into one of understanding. But not pity. Not even an ounce of it, "I can understand. She and your father were close. Very close," and then her face brightened, "Come on lets meet Parker James Booth and his wife!"

"Wait, you mean the sister of his boss?" asked Christie.

Angela laughed at that, "Yep, that's her!"

"Where does he work?" asked Jake. I noticed something. He usually stays quiet, overshadowed by the more colorful Christie. I have seen the look on his face as he watches her interact. He predicts and predicts her reactions accurately. He knows her better than he knows himself and vice-versa. What he is studying is _other _people. He gauges them as a threat. He saw me as a threat and quickly moved to protect her, even though he knew he had _no _chance of winning. He saw her in trouble and immediately jumped in with the right support.

Christie in turn watches Jake, just out of the corner of her eye. But she doesn't study him like he does her. Her stance around him is protective, like a mate shielding a mate. She seems to draw attention away from him to protect him. She gives him an escape route. A route most of the time he doesn't need. But she does it from what mostly seems to be habit. The only time I have seen two people more suited for each other was Booth and Brennan. Even _they_ didn't have the bond that these two share.

"NCIS. That stands for-"

"Navy Criminal Investigative Service." They finished together.

"Wrote a paper on it," explained Jake. Man, what _hasn't_ this kid written about? I took a sip from my hip flask. The Sprite inside(I didn't want to end up like Patriks) always cools my nerves. I hadn't operated on this little sleep since my days in the Force Recon. Lack of sleep gets me edgy. Fortunately, sneaking into the Jeffersonian forced(I stretch the term here) me to... _relieve_ a security guard of his weapon, "Specifically, a Special Agent Gibbs."

The Sprite in my mouth suddenly came out in one gush. The spit take ain't all Hollywood(Only good thing about the Invasion of California, Chinese totally _demolished _the place!)

Jake looked at me funny, but Christie beat him to it "What the hell?" she demanded.

"Not long after your father died, I was assigned to kill a terrorist cell operating from Annapolis," I explained, "Four guys, a janitor, cook, professor, and a drill instructor. Gibbs was assigned the case when their bodies were found. The bastard almost caught me." It didn't help that me and Ziva had a little... _run in_ before she was reassigned to Gibbs team. Let's just say this: if I were to walk into NCIS right now, she would shoot me in the kidneys without blinking.

"But they were terrorists!"

"Who are you?" asked Angela.

"I do Black-Ops. The things that would make gentler people like the Rangers and Booth skittish." I explained.

"Don't let my husband find out, or you will never get peace." she warned.

"Why?" I asked.

"He's a conspiracy theorist." she explained.

"Ah," I saw Christie's face and she was waiting _very _impatiently for an answer, " They never learned that those guys were terrorists, okay?" I turned to Angela and said "Lead on."

We followed her. She led us to her office were a man and a woman sat on a coach. The second they saw Christie (part of the plan was to make sure that she looked as much like Brennan as possible" they leaped out of their seats. Sarah I knew. I rescued her with myself and about five others from the hell of the Facility, after I awoke from cryo-sleep. Short and about the size of a paper weight. Parker...

"Sweet mother molasses."

I remember when Parker was nine. He was knee-high to a grasshopper and the shortest in his class. Now... the man was a _tank. _He easily out weighed me by fifty pounds of muscle _at least. _He had five inches on me, _easily_. His arms were like thighs and I don't even want to know what his thighs are like under the slacks of his business casual atire. His hair was in a slightly longer crew cut than one you get in the Marines. Last time I had seen him, he was a short mop-head. Now, he looked like he could crush you by squeezing his toes. Next to him, Sarah look absolutely _miniscule._

"Dr Bones?" he asked tentatively.

I gave a nervous chuckle. It sounded like "eh," and then said "Not quite kid, or Hulk."

He eyed me. I seemed to send him on edge. Well, he was a former member of the Force Recon, and he is a Field Agent. He's got instincts. "Who are you?" he asked.

His wife hit him in the stomach. It looked like it hurt her more than him. He still _oof_'d though, "Be nice!" she commanded.

"Yes honey."

Well, it was fun to watch! Haha, man, to see a Force Recon vet _and _NCIS Special Agent, trained by Anthony DiNozzo, the Legacy of Gibbs and quickly surpassing him, be controlled by his doll-sized wife is just hilarious! I laughed out loud. Didn't help.

"Christine Booth. My mom is Temperance Brennan," Christie introduced herself. She held out her hand.

Parker shook it, a confused and focused look on his face. I saw it a few times on Booth. Except for the hair, he was Booth's clone just as much as Christie was Brennan's.

I clapped my hands once, "Well, you two need to catch up. It's good to see you again, Sarah. Jake, let's get them some food." I didn't leave him any choice in the matter as I grabbed the back of his shirt. He didn't seem to want to go, until he received a glance from Christie. Then he was more complacent.

When we were out of the office, I noticed a small crowd of people approaching. I recognized some from file pictures.

I held up my hand "Hold it!" I commanded. At least they stopped.

"Why?" asked one angrily. Camille Saroyan, if memory serves.

Before I could answer, Jake did "That is the daughter of Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth," he explained, "We will explain everything _later_. Right now, too much of you will overwhelm her. She is just getting to know her brother. So I would appreciate it if you all _back off._" the last part had a threatening edge to it. Another thing about this kid: for Christie, he would do anything.

The others seemed to get the message. They stood aside for us.

~*~

"Good job, kid," I remarked as we were out of earshot.

"Thanks," he said it without emotion. I guess he still doesn't trust. Well, what I' about to do won't help.

"So, how long have you to loved each other?"

That made him do a double take. I think people had always asked if they were going out that they haven't gotten an answer for that particular question, "We're just good friends." he explained cautiously.

"Kid, I have flushed out terrorist cells from here to Bumfuck, Bosnia. I can tell when people are lying." I had actually been to a place called Bumfuck, Bosnia. Not a recommended tourist destination, "I can tell even when people are lying to themselves. Booth did it often enough. You, however, _aren't_ lying to yourself. You know full well how you feel."

"And you are a violent psychopath. Why should I believe anything you say?" he challenged.

"You shouldn't," I agreed, "But Christie trusts me. Booth trusted me. Your grandfather trusts me. I've seen the way you two interact. The first one should be enough for you."

"I trust Christie."

"You trust her enough to follow her anywhere, right?"

"Yes."

"Even if she follows a psychopath like me?"

"Yes."

"If she asked you not to follow?"

"I would refuse."

"As I recall, you volunteered for this plan, right?"

"Because I knew Christie would volunteer."

"And you want to protect her from all danger. From a violent psychopath like me? Someone who could kill in half a second and sleep like a baby?"

"Yes." he said it without hesitation.

I grinned and nodded, "So, following that logic, you have a death wish, or you are not madly in love, but in love so much that it has changed your personality."

He signed in defeat, "She protected me from bullies. Freshman year, she got into a fight protecting me from some jocks. I leaped in to protect _her_. My father was called, and he signed me out of school and then proceeded to beat me in a rage. He was high then. On meth. Christie called her mom. She followed my father and me home. She said she had a bad feeling in her gut. Christie's mom arrested him and I was adopted by my grandfather. But before that, I was in the hospital for two months. I had a whole series of broken bones because of the injuries brought by my fathers spec ops training. I got out, and showed her the moves my father used on me. We became friends. She continued to protect me from bullies. If not for her, I would have committed suicide before junior year. So yeah, I do love her. But I don't want to rock the boat. If she finds some nice guy, I'll make sure he's the best. But I will always be her friend. Nothing you do, or she does, or anyone else does will change that."

**Okay, same deal. 3 reviews equals new chapter**


	15. Larger Family

**First thing first: Mendenbar, I do not have an addiction. I work hard on my fanfics. I expect a reward. Second, all shall be revealed in time.**

** Christine**

After Trev and Jake left us, I stared long at hard at my older brother. Except for his size and short, dirty-blonde hair, he was the exact image of the Booth I had seen in my dream. He had the same look of protection as well.

His wife, my sister-in-law, was shorter than me by a few inches. But she had the air of a fighter, like she wouldn't back down from anything. That she would shoulder any burden for those she cares about. They both stared at me in confusion.

"Umm, well," I began, "I was born in Los Angeles General Hospital on March 11, 2011. I weighed 8.6 pounds, a perfectly healthy child. I was born as Christine Seeley Keenan, daughter of Joy Keenan and a unknown father."

"That's why we couldn't find her," whispered Parker, "She took up an alias that did not needs to be made."

"Huh?"

"Umm, Dr Bones, that's what I called her when I was a kid, she was born Joy Keenan, but her name changed to Temperance Brennan when she was two," he explained, "Her parents were bank robbers on the run from a hit man from a crew they worked with."

"Oh," my grandparents were bank robbers? Guess that's where my ability to sneak comes from, "Well, she joined the LAPD not long after I was born. She was a _very _good cop too. She did everything from Bomb Squad to SWAT."

"Dr Bones did SWAT?" asked Parker, amused.

"Yeah, so?"

He chuckled, "Dad always tried to keep her from danger when they were partners. Perrotta says that he would get very protective of her when on a case. Dr Bones always wondered why." he shook his head as if it were an obvious answer. From what my dream told me, it was.

"Perrota?"

"The new FBI Liaison with the Jeffersonian. I'm the NCIS Liaison so we occasionally work together. She used to work with Dr Bones when Dad couldn't."

"What's your mom like?" asked Sarah.

"She's... sad," I said, "Not drinking, crying sad. But, you can just tell. But she is also strong. She throws herself into whatever she does. Parenting," I chuckled, "I wasn't the best kid to have. Got into fights all the time, but also law enforcement. She was a veritable legend before the Invasion," we had just barely moved out of LA before the ACF landed in San Francisco. We were in Phoenix at the time. But that was over eight years ago. Now that they held the Sierra Nevada, the ACFs were pretty much here to stay. No one was dumb enough to throw bodies into _that meat-grinder._ One of the reasons Mom was so against me in the military was she was afraid that some one would be dumb enough, "Now she is Sheriff in Nowhere, Oregon."

Parker chuckled, "I'm sorry" he said, barely keeping laughter out of his voice, "But did you say 'Nowhere, Oregon'"

"Yeah. So?

"She was hiding," said Sarah, "Nowhere?" she smiled.

I laughed to. It was funny, now that I thought about it. My mom was hiding, literally in the middle of Nowhere! Oh the irony!

A man knocked on the door. He had curly hair with flecks of silver in it and a beard the same way. He was dressed in what would have been a nice suite a few days ago, but the tie and jacket were gone and the sleeves were rolled up. He smiled at me.

"Oh, sorry," he said, "I'm Jack Hodgins, the Director of the Jeffersonian. I used to work with your parents."

"Christie Booth." I liked the way it sounded. It was like finding an old book that you never knew you had, but were instantly familiar with it. Or seeing a photo from long ago and dimly recognizing it.

"Would you, ugh," he stuttered, "Like to meet you mom's friends?"

"I would be delighted to," I smiled. I liked Angela. Maybe the others would be like her.

A small crowd of people came into the office. One of them, an African American woman, introduced herself, "Cam Saroyan, head of the Forensics Department. I used to be your mom's boss."

Before I could respond, another guy spoke up. He looked vaguely familiar, "Lance Sweets. I was your parents therapist at the FBI."

"Mom went to therapy?" the idea was so alien that it bordered on ludicrous.

"Not willingly, I assure you," he said with a smile.

"Daisy Sweets," a woman with dark brown hair introduced, "I was a grad student for your mom."

these people. They all knew mom. Angela, Jack, Daisy, Sweets, Cam, even Parker. They knew her and searched for her. They were her family in all but name. I felt a bond between them that transcended mere friendship. They loved her like a sister, whether older or younger or twin. They were her family, and were excepting me into the fold.

I hugged Cam. My eyes welled up into tears. I had a _family,_ a large one. These people would accept me unconditionally. They would love me unconditionally.

I heard gunshots.

**Cliffhanger.**

** Next chapter, Parker's team at NCIS meet Trev. Let me just say this: Ziva, Tony, McGee, and Abby are with them. Ziva + Trev= a very interesting scenario.**

_**NCIS **_**AND **_**CASTLE **_**CROSSOVER NEXT CHAPTER.**

** REMEMBER THREE REVIEWS EQUELS NEW CHAPTER!**


	16. Meeting the King

**All right here it is chapter 16**

** Parker**

We were having a perfect family moment. My sister, and I knew that she was my sister(bone structure doesn't lie), the crew, and I were hugging and exchanging greetings.

That's when I saw a familiar face outside the office.

Grrr.

I excused my self and left the office. I then glared at the short redhead that awaited me.

"I don't have time for whatever Jedi Mind Trick games you are playing Castle," I said, "Let me-"

"DiNozzo wants to know why you haven't been working for the past few days," she replied, glaring back.

Me and Alexis Castle had never been on really good terms. We respected each others abilities and skills, but that's were the good parts end. Psychologists and Anthropologists don't really play well. Especially ones as stubborn as we are.

"Yeah well," I countered, "I just met my long lost sister. Tell him that!"

I felt a sharp _slap! _On the back of my head, "You think I'm that stupid, Booth?"

Ah crap.

I turned around to see my boss, the legendary Anthony, "Chameleon" DiNozzo . And he is face expressionless. After ten years heading the Undercover Ops, I know he has a helluva poker face, which he was using right now. Not a good sign, "It's God's honest truth Boss!"

"I think God would smite you if he knew you were using His name to lie."

Oh _double _crap.

I graduated high school in three years. I received my doctorate two years early. I served for _five years _on the Marine Force Recon, finally retiring as a Major, youngest in Marine Corps history. I have seen things that would make most people suicidal. My record was second only to that of the legendary Sergeant Major Jon Trevodur, King of CQB. Yet despite all that, Boss's wife scared the _piss_ out of me.

Ziva David-DiNozzo, Head of NCIS's Intelligence branch. Rumor is that she used to be an assassin for Mossad and that she has a higher body count than cancer. She was sent here to spy on us, but that eventually betrayed Mossad and joined us at NCIS. I have a hundred and fifty pounds on her and am a student of Trevodur MCMAP, designed and mastered by the King himself. Yet there is no doubt in my mind that in a fight, she would kill me in seconds. There is a saying in the Navy Yard: "Don't offend the Chameleon, sure as hell don't piss off his wife, and if the twins ask for _anything_, give it to them!"

I backed away, "I'm not lying!" I protested, "Cross my heart!"

"Give it up, Probie," I turned around and saw Senior Field Agent Jack Max standing next to Director Tim McGee, "A long lost sister? _I _can do better than that!"

"Not that you-know, finding a long lost sister wouldn't be possible. Only very statistically low."

Well, this hour gets better and better. I get cornered by Gibbs's Legacy. Not my idea of a good time. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother-in-law and his wife. Ziva and the Boss were around at family get togethers so much that they were sort of surrogate brother and sister. But you try being cornered by the most legendary people at NCIS other than the Old Bastard, may he rest in peace.

"Ugh guys," I stuttered, backing away from the legendary four, plus my teammates, "I honestly can say that I found my long lost sister!"

Whatever she was going to say, Ziva never got it out. Her head jerked to her right. I saw her eyes widen. She instantly jerked her gun out, pivoted and aim. In one second, all of us, except Abby, did the same.

The guy that brought Christie here, the one that somehow set my nerves on edge, stood there, bags of take-out in his arms. He grinned a silly grin, "I'm remembered!" he exclaimed glee fully.

He personally has the Head of Intelligence at NCIS pointing a gun at him and he is _gleeful?_ This guy is crazy.

"Hands on your head!" instructed Ziva.

And then I noticed the other guy, Christie's friend, Jake. He cautiously backed up. He looked at us and said, "Okay, I didn't have any part in what he did!" he reasoned, "By the way, what _did _you do?"

"Kid, that list is long and _very_ varied," he replied, "This time I think she's thinking of Munich."

_"I will blow you head off!"_ she threatened.

"Who is he, Zee?" asked the Boss.

"I'm called the King of CQB," he replied, nonchalantly.

King of CQB?! He... fits the profile. I had seen a picture of him at Recon School. He set records that haven't been broken since he went through. But he had been dead for _years. _I would have been four when he died. But there is no denying it. Bone structure.

_"On your toes!" _I warned, "Do _not _let him engage you in CQB!"

"Other than that moniker," he set down his bags, "I'm also called the _Evel Kenievel of the Battlefield!"_

He became a blur as he leaped to the side. I didn't think. I shot. I got off one round before my gun was slammed out of my hand.

He shot my gun out of my hands. _On the fly._

I hesitantly raised my hands. All the stories I had heard about this guy said he was a grade A psychopath, without any morals or ethics. If he had our life in his hands, we were as close to leaving on our own feet as in a body-bag.

"If I drop the gun," he said, "Will you play nice, _Ziva?"_

I saw her eyes flick to the Boss. Her eyes gave him a quick once-over. I had seen it before. She was making sure he wasn't hurt. Like me, all of us had our guns shot out of our hands.

"_TREV!"_

My eyes flicked to my sister. She had just exited Angela's office, and wore a expression of such rage, I suddenly felt sorry for "Trev". And then it morphed into concern. She rushed towards Jake, "You all right?" she asked. Her voice was tender. I began to think they were more than friends.

"I'm fine."

"And _I'm_ asking again, Ziva," he stressed.

She glared at him, "We have a deal."

He dropped the clip and ejected the round. He glanced at Castle, "Little Lexi! How's Kate doing?" he asked. From his tone, he was familiar with her family. I had previously met her step mom, she was nice. Unlike her stepdaughter, Kate did not play head games with me. Her father was another story. Both father and daughter were obsessed with finding "the story" behind me. Thankfully, I was happily married.

"She still holds that grudge," she replied. She eyed him wearily.

"I swear," he exasperated, "It was _one_ concussion! And I saved her life!"

"Why are you so young?" she asked, "Last time I saw you, you were not a day under twenty five. Now you look thirty."

"A long and hellish story involving Cryogenics."

**I swear, I'm beginning to get the hang of these cliffhangers.**

** 3 REVIEWS, 1 CHAPTER! THAT'S THE DEAL!**


	17. Remembering the Past

**I don't know who has trained who: me train you guys to review or you guys training me to write!**

** Trev**

** "**Cryogenics?" asked Lexi.

"You mean like freezing people and stuff?" asked Hodgins, "No way man, that's all science fiction."

"Actually," said Sarah hesitantly, "It's not." McGee also looked uncomfortable. So did Parker. Of course they would. They knew Sarah's secret too.

"I suggest that we discuss this over Thai in a comfortable place.," I suggested. I picked up my dropped Thai and walked into Angela's office. The rest wordlessly followed.

I cracked open a Thai container and began to dig in. While eating I told the story, and remembered details I didn't tell.

_**Sixteen years ago, Shanghai...**_

_As I walked out of the tea shop, it started to rain. I cursed Shanghai weather. The streets were full of beggars taking shelter from the rain by hiding under awnings. There were no lights and cars in this district. Bellow the bamboo catwalks, the denizens of this poor district rowed their little canoes. Along with being the poorest district in the city, it was also the most crowded. The shabby huts and apartments looked as if they might fall into the filthy water below by the sheer weight of humanity. I had seen worse._

_ My mark was hiding somewhere here. My job: find him, terminate him by any means of my discretion. It was a good place to hide. The cheap housing, if you can call it that, could be paid for by almost pocket money. Peddlers in their boats sold food below, no security cameras in the stores. Finally, everyone here can be bought to keep silent. _

_ Along with being a good place to hide, it was also a good place to dispose of a corpse. No one would care, police or otherwise, if a unidentified body was found in the water. The most anyone would care is if they could scavenge a few bucks from his pockets._

_ I shuffled my gate, my ill fitting villager clothes covering my arms. My hat covered my face. No one would suspect I was a white man. Nor would they suspect me if they spoke to me. My Chinese and Cantonese was perfect, and I had easily been able to adapt to the guttural slang of the slums._

_ There he was, my mark. He did not notice me. No one notices drunks in a place like this._

_ He started to pass me. As soon as his back was turned, I whipped around and stabbed him in the kidney, Gramp's Fairbarn-Stykes Knife sliding through flesh like it is nothing. Just as fast, I slid my knife out and stabbed his carotid artery. He would bleed out in seconds. Before he could however, my arm and knife a blur, I stabbed him twice more between the two points. After, I dumped his body into the muck below._

_ I carefully wiped his blood off Gramp's knife. I would allow nothing to taint the blade. I kept it for sentimental reasons. I slid the lethal weapon back into its plastic sheath. Leather is bad for knives._

_ I continued on. Within hours, I was out of the slums and into the red light district. Whores of all shapes and sizes were advertising. I slid unnoticed into a dark alleyway. _

_ Minutes later, I walked out. Gone was the drunk. In his place, a stooped man in a trench coat, his collar up, his hat hiding his face. No one would care. No one wanted to bee seen in this most unsavory part of the city._

_ I boarded a train. I straightened, put my collar down, and walked with purpose. Gone was the unfaithful husband. In his place, a man with purpose. A western _Zhongguo ren_, a money man. A banker, one would guess. Or a business man with capital in the city._

_ Change is everything. Call it what you will, my job is murder. The police cannot catch a ever-changing ghost._

_ I made my way to my hotel. As per my identity, for I was Jon Trevinski, business man, looking for foreign investors for TRAVCO shipping. As of such, my boardings were nice, but not lavish. I would __be in a suite of the Imperial Pei Kong Hotel. I would be sitting back, a glass of moderately fine wine in my hand. I hated wine. Give me beer or whiskey any day. But Jon Trevinski loved wine. Ever-changing ghost._

_ I enered the hotel and went to the front desk. The petite receptionist smiled at me, "How can I help you sir?" she asked in passable English._

_ I remembered what Booth told me about how little things to make people feel more comfortable can make their day. I didn't care about her day, but Booth had left his mark, even when dead. I would be nice for my dead friend, "Is their any messages for a Jon Trevinski?" I asked in Chinese._

_ She typed on her keyboard, "No sir," she replied in the same langage, "Your Chinese is excellent sir."_

_ I smiled without feeling it, "You should hear my Cantonese," I replied, using the language._

_ She giggled, "Where did you learn to speak Asianic languages so well?"_

_ "I travel very much for a living," I replied, "I speak with foreign investors. Speaking their languages fluently helps seal the deal," it also helps me kill them easier._

_ "Any other languages you know?"_

_ "French, Russian, German, Spanish, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean, and Italian," and Farsi, Arabic, and Sanskrit. I learned Italian because I lost a bet._

_ "My, you speak so many languages!" she exclaimed, "I bet your parents I proud!"  
I managed to keep my face calm. My parents, were they alive, would most certainly _not _proud, "They sure are."_

_ I left the receptionist and got into the elevator. I tried not to think of my family. Or my daughter, being raised by my sister. I hoped that Kate had kept her word and had told no one that I was still alive. I didn't have the heart to tell them what I do. What I did._

_ The doors opened, and a man in a black suite threw dust in my face. I felt the world go black._

_**Present Day**_

"We didn't need to know the details on how you killed the guy," complained Parker.

"And _I _didn't need for it to be demonstrated on me!" Jake put in.

I grinned. It was so easy to annoy them. I looked at Lexi, "Did Kate tell my brother or sister that I am still alive?"

She shook her head, "Nope, I met your sister," she explained, "she still thinks your dead. Your daughter is nice to."

Oh _crap._

Christie's head jerked up, "You have a _daughter_?!" she excaimed, "I want to hear that story!"

"There is no _story_," I said, "It was a graduation party and there was beer. Nuff' said." my tone was final. I glared at Lexi.

She shrugged, "Parker does it better than _that,"_ she said, "And there is _always _a story. A sequence of events that make people act the way they do," she fished out a spicy shrimp from the take-out container.

"No, _society _makes people act the way we do," argued Parker, "Not some potty-training accident!"

"Do they do this often?" I asked Sarah.

"All the time," she whispered to me. The two's arguments were getting heated, "Parker trusts Ducky's and Sweets' arguments because he knows that they have much more experience than he does. But not Alexis, she has been working at NCIS only a few years longer than he has."

I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a piercing whistle. The two shut up and rubbed their ears. "Am I going to have to sepparate you two?" I asked. I glared at Lexi, "And _you, _that was private information. People's pasts are _their past. _It does not belong to you to give out when you feel like it." I was _pissed_. And for a good reason. Bringing up Jenny would only make it hurt more.

She glared back. And then she backed off. Good. Her instincts could tell how dangerous I was. Plus the memory of my shooting out her gun only a few minutes earlier.

_**Sixteen Years Ago, The Facility, Chicago...**_

___I started to wake up. Floor, linoleum, shifted in and out of focus. I grunted feebly. They brought me to a diving platform over a tank of some blue liquid. I tried to struggle, but my arms felt like lead._

___They threw me into the tank. It wasn't liquid. It was some sort of gel like substance without any bubbles. I drifted slowly down. Desperately I tried to kick toward the surface. _

___A shock went through me. I stiffened, and all the air escaped my lungs. The viscous substance slid down my throat, filling my lungs. I couldn't breathe!_

___And then it got cold... and dark..._

__**"Jon," a knock on my door, "Wake up! First day of high school!" mom smiled at me. I glared at her with eyes still half asleep.**

** My body on automatic, I walked down the hall and took a left. By the time I exited the shower five minutes later, I was reasonably more awake. I bound down the hall again and entered the kitchen. I fixed myself some Cinnamon Toast Crunchand then proceeded to get dressed. I had always been a casual dresser. You can't go wrong with t-shirt and jeans.**

** "Hurry up Sam!" I yelled at my brother, "I don't want to be late on my fist day!"**

** "You can be late for a few minutes!" he yelled back, "Just tell them you got lost! You are a stupid freshman, after all!" **

** "I already memorized the map!"**

** "Ugh," grunted Maggs as she entered the kitchen, "Keep it down! Stevie is still asleep."**

** No sooner then the words were out of her mouth, the five-year old came running into the kitchen. He grinned the toothy grin that all toddlers grin, "I'm not asleep Maggs!" he exclaimed, "Its my first day of Kid-garden! And it's Jon-jon's first day of tall school!"**

** I grinned myself and lifted the toddler in my arms, "It's high school and Kindergarten, Little Stevie," I gently corrected, "And, I was going to give you this earlier, but I think now would be a better time."**

** I set him down and opened the work-out bag I used to carry my binder. I drew out a small, red notebook. I handed it to Stevie, "I know how you like stories," I said, "So, I got you this. In kindergarten, you're gonna learn to read and write better, right?" he nodded ecclesiastically. Sam and I had already taught him how to read and write. He wouldn't get better instruction till first grade. But already he loved telling stories. He said that he wanted to be writer, "So, I got you this so you can write all the stories you think of!" his eyes lit up, "But," I warned, "You can't scribble in it!" he nodded enthusiastically. I gave him the note book.**

** "Thank you Jon-jon!" he leaped up and hugged me tight, "I love you!"**

** "I love you to Stevie."**

"I relived my Freshman year of high school three times in that tank," I explained. They were looking intensely at me, riveted by the story. 

It was hell, not only to relive the pressure and drama of high school, but to remember my brother. He would have been a great writer.

**Next chapter, we see how Trev escaped for the Facility.**

** REMEMBER THE DEAL**


	18. Oh crap

**Lurker, thanks for the tip! I hope I can correct that with this chapter! you to Mendenbar!  
**

** Trev**

"Hay wait," I looked at Hodgins, "Everything Booth told me about you said that you are a paranoid ass. Why are you accepting Christie's and mine story?"

"I'm not," he replied with a grin, "Angela seems to have, though. So has Parker."

"Bone structure doesn't lie," argued Parker.

"And I trust Parker's judgment," answered Cam.

"And I concur with Parker's findings, as well," quipped Daisy.

"I trust Daisy," her husband put in.

"I still want a DNA test," he said.

"Ziva, he telling the truth?" asked DiNozzo.

"I _think _so," she squinted at me. She was relaxed, loose. Younger assassins tend to tense, coiled. The older and more dangerous ones can control themselves better.

"Hey buddy," oh, boy, what will she do? "You want a DNA test?" she smiled sweetly at him. I wondered if she smiled the same way when she decked the kid in the back of the squad car.

"Yep."

She picked up a black Sharpie, "Angela, can I use this?" the woman nodded. Christie walked over to the wall and drew a crude, funny face labeled _Jack Hodgins._ She gave Jack a final sweet smile. And then she punched the wall with all her strength.

She broke through the dry wall. Everyone but me, Ziva, DiNozzo, and McGee jumped. Experienced Field Agents were hard to spook. After she withdrew her had, she broke off a piece with a red stain on it. She tossed it to the stunned scientist. "There's your DNA." she snapped. She sat down on the couch with a huff.

Jake went to her and grabbed her hand. He began to examine it. Christie rolled her eyes, "It's only a few scratches, Jake," she complained. From what I could see, it was. Cam came over and looked at the hand.

"Why don't you let some one with a medical degree look at it?" Cam advised. Jake obediently gave her the hand. Cam tested it by moving her fingers and wrist, "That hurt?" Christie shook her head. Angela handed her band aides. Jack was outside giving the dry wall to a lab tech, giving him specific orders on who to compare it to Parker, Seeley, and Brennan.

"Continue with the story!" commanded Lexi.

"Not the cryogenics story, the one about your daughter!" If she wasn't Booth's daughter, I would have killed her. I have done so for less.

"Grad party. Beer. No story. Are you done?"

"No," she quipped, "I mean, what is she like? Is she a psyc-"

"No!" the thought alone made me ill, "My psychopathia is the result of traumatic experience, not inheritance."

"Makes sense," quipped Sweets, "If it was inherited, you would have killed us and been done with it."

"But," said Lexi, "for the sake of a friendship with a dead man, you haven't."

"That 'dead man'" I replied, "I have a huge debt to," I hope this squares us, buddy.

_**Three Years ago, The Facility, Chicago...**_

_They dropped me. I landed on my knees. I coughed and vomited the blue, lime tasting, disgusting crap that was in the container. A squint near me looked down his nose. He wrote on a clipboard._

_ I was angry. I was cold. They made me look upon a brother I had been trying to forget for over a decade. They brought back memories of my parents, Aunty Jo, and Stevie. I would make them pay for the suffering they had caused me. Dead had to stay dead._

_ In the blink of an eye, I grabbed his foot and twisted. I heard bone pop out of place. He screamed and fell to his knee. I grabbed his hair and short and slammed him, face first onto the linoleum floor. I heard his skull give way. Blood started to pool around his head._

_ I felt an electric shock on my back and the world turned black once more..._

_ I went through weeks of testing. They tested my heart, my lungs. My muscles and senses. My mind and body. I felt like a lab rat._

_ I stood in my room, waiting for my guard to come in here for the the latest round of tests. The door opened. He stood there, his white uniform pristine, devoid of metal and device. He held a belt in his hand._

_ "You know the drill," he said lazily._

_ I did know the drill. I raised my hands above my head. He put the belt on. Two prongs dug into my side. Electric shocker belts. They could be activated remotely in a control room somewhere in the building. The two prongs were positioned on my kidneys. A push of the button and I would be reduced to a spasmodic mess for the next few hours. I let him put the belt on me without complaint._

_ He lazily turned around and opened the door. As soon as it was, I jerked the bits of plastic I had managed to scavenge between me and the belt. I gabbed his forehead and his chin and yanked. His head spun a complete hundred and eighty degrees. I felt a slight tingling sensation on my sides._

_ I smiled, and removed the key ring on his belt. I unlocked my belt and raced off into the hallway, his baton in my hand. I hid behind a corner. I could hear the running on shoes of another guard. Unlike mine, which interacted with the "patients" close up, this kind stayed at a distance, and were armed with Sigs,_

_ I jumped out from behind the container and swung the baton. It hit the soft spot on his throat. In the blink of an eye, I drew is gun. I put a 9mm round through his skull. I scavenged his belt. I took off running. I came to another patients room. I swiped the card and the door unlocked. I opened it. Inside, huddled into a corner, was a girl, about early twenties. I she looked at me. Her swollen eyes were filled with wonder and confusion. I jerked my head, "Breakout. You coming?" she launched herself off the bed._

_**Present Day**_

"You remember that Sarah?" I asked.

She smiled sadly. Parker put his thigh sized arm around her, "Yep. I thought that you were some demon sent from hell to take them to it."

"Aww," ain't that sweet? "I'm flattered." no, I really am. Seriously.

_**The Facility, Chicago...**_

_We raced through the place. I picked up four more people. I grabbed a small map on the wall. It was an evac plan. No one but us would be evacing this place._

_ We met a few more guards, some with guns and some without. They met the same fate as the second one. 9mms through their heads. I made my way to the heart of the complex. I drew out a key-card used by a scientist that wouldn't be going home to a wife and kids. I swiped it on the door of the command center._

_ The door opened and I entered the room calmly, first shooting the guards in the head. Then I started blowing out the knees of the scientists and techs remaining. They fell to the ground screaming. I kicked one on the floor. _

_ "Where are we?" I questioned._

_ "The Facility," he sobbed "don't kill me. I have three kids. Please don't kill me." I could tell he wasn't lying._

_ "Why are we here?" I asked, "What did you do to us?"_

_ "We froze you!" he cried, "We did an experiment and froze you! You've been in suspended animation for thirteen years!" he still sobbed._

_ "Froze us?" what was this, a bad sci-fi novel? "How? Human flesh degrades when frozen. Brain cell turn to goop."_

_ "The materiel we froze you in binds with the water in your body!" he cried, "Since it doesn't freeze at negative ten degrees Celsius, it kept your cells in a state of suspension! Brain cells use chemicals to initiate electronic communication in the body. We only delayed those reactions!" _

_ "Why us?"_

_ "I don't know!" he cried, again telling the truth, "I don't know. Please don't kill me!"_

_ I put a round through his skull. I finished every one of the pricks in the room. The others slid into the farthest corner, hiding from the monster that was me. I would not harm them. These pricks had put me through a hell I had never seen. I would find those responsible. And I would send them to the other side of the river._

_ I went to the nearest computer. Environmental controls. Hmm, intriguing. The doors to this center were airtight. Time the guys in this place to get a little oxygen enriched air._

_ In small amounts, say, 20% of the air we breathe, oxygen is vital to life. Like everything else, however, to much is poisonous._

_ I changed the percentage to 90% oxygen. I watched as the rest in the Facility died vomiting blood and guts. I smiled. Pricks who force me through hell pay the price._

_ After an hour in the control room. In that time, every person in the Facility except us died. I didn't care. I left my soul in al-Jihan, in northern Afghanistan. I then turned the ventilation on and changed the oxygen levels to safe amounts. I turned to them, "Let's get outta here."_

_ Out of fear of me or about being left behind, they did follow. Before we left, however, I took some whiskey and matches and set one of the scientists on fire._

_ Before we left, I set the vents to start billowing pure oxygen in one hour. _

_ We boarded a elevator the map said would take us to the surface. In my pocket was a ten flash drives with every last scrap of data from those computers._

_ The elevator doors opened to reveal the inside of a train station parking structure. I had good luck that day._

_ Commuter parking is an operators best friend. You can find anything there. A place to sleep for a few hours, new clothes, a cell phone, ride, maybe even a weapon. But I already had one of those. I glanced at the watch I had lifted from a dead scientist. My hour was almost up. That place was deep underground._

_ "Come on," I instructed. We turned a corner and took cover behind a pillar._

_ "What are we hiding from?" asked the first one I rescued._

_ The doors to the elevator burst open, flames gushing out. The ground below us rumbled. I looked up. The fluorescent lights swung lazily after the ground stopped moving, "That."_

_ In the end, we managed to get new clothes for everyone. I hot-wired a SUV and drove us out._

_ We went our separate ways. I managed to access my accounts. My money was still untouched. I was still a multi-millionare. I purchased train tickets (thirteen years and there is sill an AMTRACK). The first one, Sarah, was headed to DC. I did some searching online, and found out her brother was the new Director of NCIS. He had been searching for her this whole time._

_ I was going hunting._

"Bet you don't believe me, huh, Hodgins?"

None of them did. They stared at me wide eyed, except, McGee, Sarah, and Parker. Empty take-out littered the floor.

"I don't believe a word you say" he answered in a amazed voice "but that is such a good wad of yarn that I don't care."

"It's all true," said Sarah quietly. She looked at the ground. She was strong. But not strong enough to not be affected. According to her, it was the first time she saw some one die. At least for her it was strangers. I wasn't so lucky.

McGee glanced up at his brother-in-law, "Parker, take as much time as you need for your sister," he looked at DiNozzo, "That okay Tony?"

"Yeah," he said quietly. He stared at me like I was some weird, confusing object, "They should make a movie out of that," he looked at the rest of them, "I guess we should go."

The others nodded silently and they filed out of the office. Lexi glanced back at me and nodded sadly. She knew my past.

"The DNA tests will comeback in the morning," Jack said, "But that was such a good story, I am willing to let you in my home."

"What do you mean, 'your home'?" asked Angela, cocking an eyebrow.

"Our home?" he corrected, giving her an apologetic smile.

"Mmm Hmm," she said. I was reminded of Laverne from _Scrubs_. I laughed at the memory.

"That's nice and all," I said, "But we already got hotel rooms."

"Hey, I won't let my sister stay in a hotel room," commanded Parker, "Not when I got a perfectly nice guest room."

"It would be a pleasure," assured Sarah, "On one condition."

Oh boy, "No thank you." I had a bad feeling about this.

"What was your relationship with Parker's dad?" she asked.

Oh good, I thought it would be something hard, "Booth was a very good friend. I didn't have a moral compass. I had a _what would Booth do_ thing. I saved you because that was what he would have done." I gestured at Sarah

"He wouldn't have killed every on there," objected Parker.

"I just said I asked it, not that I always listened," I explained, "And before you object to have never seen me with Booth, remember the story. You think your father would allow me anywhere near you?" He had been adamant I stay at least five hundred yards from his son. I can't say I blamed him, "When I was in town, I would have a few beers with him. I would usually leave the next day." I didn't tell him that I trusted Booth enough to let him look into my parents case, "He described me as 'a psychopath I wouldn't sic upon my own worst enemy'." I remembered those words. I had felt flattered. I still do.

"How did you meet?"

"Booth was my sniper tutor. He was the only sniper to cross train with the Force Recon, SEALs, PJ's-"

"I know my father's record," interupted Parker, "I was an officer in the Force Recon."

"Really?" that's news, "Not a Ranger like your dad?"

"Nope," he shook his head, "And I know _your _record." well, that's not surprising, "I'm even a student of the MCMAP you used."

"Really? That must mean your CO had to be Jeff Calson. How's he doing?"

"Wait wait wait," interrupted Christie, "Calson? About yea high," she stretched her arm out to about six feet, "broad shouldered, Gray hair on the sides, kind of hooked nose?"

"Yeah," we both said.

"He's my mom's deputy!" she said.

"Oh crap."

**Calson**

Well, I'll give Keenan this: when she feels the need, she won't sleep until the bastard is caught. I placed a mug of coffee on the desk.

"You need to sleep," I advised as she chugged the bitter black liquid.

"I'll sleep after the bastard is caught," she snapped, "What do we know about the drug dealer killing?"

"You think it's connected?" I had no qualms about her taking the lead on this one. It was her daughter after all.

"You think I would be asking if I didn't?"

"Not much," I answered, "He used a simple counter-weight system with his rope."

"How simple?"

"He used three forty five pound weights tied at the end of a rope. Slung them over the side of the branch. Slowed him enough. Since you can get those at any sporting goods store, I don't think it's much of a lead."

"How much would they cost?"

"Around three hundred bucks."

"If he used cash?"

That makes sense, "He would try to be untraceable. But a buying with cash-"

"Would make him be remembered. He's probably a big guy, strong enough to haul all his equipment plus the weights." this was why she was now Sheriff, and I wasn't, "There's a sporting goods store on Pine street. We'll start there." I grabbed my jacket and walked out into the rain.

** REMEMBER THE DEAL **


	19. Finding the Links

**Joy**

"Are sure it was this man?" the cashier nodded.

"I mean, it's not every day someone buys a hundred and thirty five pounds of weight," she said, "using only cash. He even allowed me to keep the change."

I looked at the sketch. It depicted a average white male. No distinguishing features, a slight cleft in the chin, deep set eyes, and a slightly prominent zygomatic. A man who could disappear in a crowd.

Calson looked at the sketch. He tilted his head one way, and then the other, "You recognize him?" I asked.

"I don't think so," he replied, "He just looks kinda familiar."

"Well," interrupted the cashier, "I don't know why he bought so many wieghts. I mean, his limp was pretty bad."

"Limp?" Calson asked.

"Yeah, limp," she responded, "He walked with a limp in his right leg. Looked painful."

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"Other than hair and voice," he started, "Gait is the easiest thing to fake," I begged a differ, "most people can remember how some one walks if they have something obvious like a limp. It draws attention away from other things, such as height and weight, things that, if you can fake them, are hard to."

"How can you hide height and weight?"

"Stoop, wear bulky clothes, fat suite, good posture can make you look taller," he answered, "Facial expressions and first impressions can also effect how people perceive things."

"How?" it didn't make sense.

"If a guy seems nervous and a pushover, people naturally assume he is smaller and weaker."

"Like a meercat," I said, "They stand on their hind legs to seem bigger to their enemies."

"Yeah, like a meercat," he scratched his chin, "That probably isn't a accurate discretion of his face though."

"How?"

"To an average person, things that seem permanent probably aren't," he responded, "He probably went a few days without sleep. It made his eyes look deeper set than they actually are. He probably jutted out his chin slightly to make his jaw look bigger. And he could have scowled a bit to make his brow look bigger."

"What makes you think we are looking for a Disguisey?" I asked. You don't raise a teenager without seeing a few movies.

"I don't know," he said, "Something doesn't sit right with this guy."

"How?"

"It just seems like he is jerking us around," he scratched his chin again, "Why was Christie at Marcus's anyway?"

I hesitated. It _might _be relevant, but probably not, "Jake is her best friend."

"And future husband," he said with a laugh, "What?" he asked my glare, "Marcus and I drink beer on Tuesdays. I'm rootin' for those two just as much as you are."

I rolled my eyes. Only me and Marcus could needle those two. Grandpa and mother privileges.

"But that isn't the only reason."

I froze, "What?"

"You had a concussion. You wouldn't be allowed to sleep for twenty-four hours" he said with a cold stare, "I don't know the kid well, but I know her well enough that she is loyal to a fault. What happened?"

"We..." I forced my self to finish it, "got into an argument."

"About what?"

"Her father," might as well tell him everything. It might help us find Christie, "She wanted to know who he is."

"And did you tell her?"

"I don't know who he is," I lied.

"Don't give me that bullspit," he said calmly, "You really think I believe you pulled a Momma Mia?"

"A what?" I asked. I hoped to change the subject. And learn what a Momma Mia was.

"Lady sleeps around. Her daughter finds her little black book and realizes she has three possible fathers. Don't change the subject," damn, "Who is her father?"

"Why should I tell you, _Deputy?"_i hoped to enrage him. To keep him at bay.

"Because, your daughter is missing. We have a missing corpse, a drugged M.E. And no evidence," he said. He was like a bull, he wouldn't stop until he had all the information, "We have a sketch that could easily have been faked. Our only lead is a dead end. I want to know who that girls father is. I Marcus has _contacts. _For all we know, that girl could have been looking into her father for years, using his contacts. _Who is he?"_

I gulped. This was the reason I never became a detective, "Seeley Booth."

"Who?"

I gulped again, "Seeley Booth."

Calson blanched. He stood straighter, like a electric shock went through him, "_Sergeant Seeley Booth?_" he asked, "The legendary sniper?"

I was confused. Yes Booth had been a sniper. I knew he was good, but a legend? "He was a Sergeant in the Rangers, yes."

"He was much more than a Ranger," Calson said, "He crossed trained with the SEALs, Force Recon, Pararescue, and even the flippan SAS. He was a legend in the spec ops community."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I served in the Force Recon," he responded, "I even had the pleasure of working with his son. Kid's a better warrior than his father was. If he hadn't been discharged for pysche reasons, he would have won the Medal by now."

He knew Parker? And then his eyes widened, "Wait here" he commanded. He rushed to his desk. He jerked open a drawer and drew out a stack of pictures. He flipped through them, finally settling on one. He threw onto my desk.

Something about the picture... it depicted a man, twenty at the most, staring at the camera with cold, hard eyes, his combat fatigues stained with some dark liquid, "Sergeant Major Jon Trevodur," Calson explained, "Youngest Sergeant Major in the history of the Corps. A flippan _legend._ First day of combat, he killed fifty enemy insurgents in a attack on his patrol. By the time his first tour was up, he had _three _Silver Stars."

"So this is our guy?" I asked. He could be a match to the sketch.

"Nope," Calson shook his head, "He died more than twenty years ago. I was a First Lieutenant then."

Something didn't add up, "How good was he in hand-to-hand combat?"

"The best," he replied, "He created his own form of MCMAP. Still being taught at CQB School."

I stood up I grabbed my stapler and pointed it at him like a gun, "If I fire point a gun at you," I said, "and you used his CQB style, what would do?"

"I would knock it away like this," he swiftly knocked the stapler from my hands, "And then I would grab your wrist," he did so, "and then I would break you elbow like so." he placed his left palm on my elbow and pushed slightly.

"And if I step inward, and aim a punch for your kidneys?"

He thought about it, "I would release your hand, grab your shoulder and push you behind me." he did so, "That move he said he learned playing D-line. He called it The Swim."

"And if you were distracted for only a second, and I managed to punch you in the face," I did so, slowly.

"I would grab your wrist and your opposite shoulder, and I would slam you to the ground."

I looked up at him. His eyes were wide, "It doesn't mean anything. Lots of people go through CQB School."

"How did they identify the body?" I asked as I sat in my chair.

"Dog Tags," he replied, "they were burned, but legible."

"Did they confirm with dental records?"

Calson shook his head, "It was a combat zone. Dead were coming in everyday. The M.E.'s were worked almost to death. If the dog tags said it was a Sergeant Major, he was a Sergeant Major."

"He faked his death," it was the only conclusion that made sense, "No one would look for him."

"But what's the connection? Why Christie? The only connection would be her father." he scratched his chin again, "How well did you know Booth?"

I grunted and shifted uneasily in my chair, "I..." might as well spill all the beans, "wasn't always called Joy Keenan."

"No duh" I looked at him he rolled his eyes, "child's expression."

"I used to Dr Temperance Brennan, Forensic Anthropologist," I said. The hurt welled up inside my chest. There was a good reason I buried my past. I forcefully shoved the image on a burned corpse out of my mind, "I was partnered with FBI Agent Seeley Booth to investigate Homicides in whose victims were degraded beyond recognition," my voice shook, "He was my best friend." I blinked back tears.

Calson looked at me with understanding, "I know what it's like to lose a partner and best friend," he said, "It sucks."

**Jake**

I knocked on the door of Christie's hotel room. Trev had been adamant that we stay here.

Angela opened the door, "Jake! Come on in!" she stepped aside to let me in, "We just finished! And my, does she look _hot!"_

When doesn't she? "Hey Christie!" I shouted.

"Don't yell!" she hit me in the shoulder. I jumped. She can be _sneaky_. Not only that, all she was wearing was a fuzzy robe. What she was trying to do, kill me?

Well, she did look hot. Her newly jet black hair was damp from the dye. I heard _Jukebox Hero_ playing in the background. But that didn't distract me. Her face was framed by her new hairdo. She didn't bother to tuck it behind her ears.

"I ugh," smooth man, smooth, "Wanted to see how you were doing."

She shrugged, "Okay, I guess."

Angela stared at us as if we were retards, "Okay, I'm going to go home, leaf through a photo album, and remember Booth and Bren. You two are like them, only dumber!" she raced out of the room, leaving us alone. Something caught Christie's eye.

"Hey Jake," she a small digital recorder that had a sticky note on it out of her bag, "'_play me_'" she read, "What's this Jake?"

I didn't know, but I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach.

**REMEMBER THE DEAL**


	20. Fluff and Dirty Humor

**Warning: this is my pitiful attempt at fluff. Please be gentle.**

** Jake**

_"I trust Christie."_

_ "You trust her enough to follow her anywhere, right?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "Even if she follows a psychopath like me?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "If she asked you not to follow?"_

_ "I would refuse."_

_ "As I recall, you volunteered for this plan, right?"_

_ "Because I knew Christie would volunteer."_

_ "And you want to protect her from all danger. From a violent psychopath like me? Someone who could kill in half a second and sleep like a baby?"_

_ "Yes."_

_ "So, following that logic, you have a death wish, or you are not madly in love, but in love so much that it has changed your personality."_

_ "She protected me from bullies. Freshman year, she got into a fight protecting me from some jocks. I leaped in to protect her. My father was called, and he signed me out of school and then proceeded to beat me in a rage. He was high then. On meth. Christie called her mom. She followed my father and me home. She said she had a bad feeling in her gut. Christie's mom arrested him and I was adopted by my grandfather. But before that, I was in the hospital for two months. I had a whole series of broken bones because of the injuries brought by my fathers spec ops training. I got out, and showed her the moves my father used on me. We became friends. She continued to protect me from bullies. If not for her, I would have committed suicide before junior year. So yeah, I do love her. But I don't want to rock the boat. If she finds some nice guy, I'll make sure he's the best. But I will always be her friend. Nothing you do, or she does, or anyone else does will change that."_

The recording stopped, along with my dignity. Christie stared into space. I was worried that she was going into shock. _I _felt like going into shock. I had just seen her hear my confession of love from a digital voice recorder. What was the worst part was the fact that our friendship would suffer.

"Christie-" before I could get anything out she slammed me against the wall.

"Did you mean it?" she asked. She stared at me long and hard.

"What?"

"In the recording," she clarified, her voice strong and clear, "When you said you loved me, _did you mean it?"_

I gulped. Time to face the music, "Yeah, I meant every word."

Her face was a mask of pure concentration. She leaned her head forward. Before I could react, she kissed me.

I felt a searing heat in front of me. It was as if her body was being welded to mine. I enjoyed it. I craved it. I needed it. I needed _her._

She deepened the kiss. She pulled herself closer. It seemed that she desperatly wanted to join with me. I loved it I loved _her_.

She broke away, gasping for a breath. She panted, looked up at me and smiled. A million watt smile. Like she just one the lotto, "I love you too."

If any words could make me happier, it was those. I picked her up ad twirled her around the room. She laughed in pure joy. I settled her down and kissed her again. This one was short, and just as sweet. She kept smiling that million watt smile. She undid the knot on her robe.

"Let's see if Trev left more than a voice recorder in my bag."

"And if he didn't?"

She slid the robe off her body, "Does it look like I care?"

* * *

**End of fluff. Now time for a little dirty comedy.**

** Trev**

I could tell from the sounds coming from the hotel room that my plan had worked. But did she really need to be that _loud?_

Oh, hell no. What is Parker doing here. He looked confused. And then his face changed to embarrassed. And then rage when he realized whose room the sounds were coming from.

"That little snot," he swore. He walked down the hall with a purpose.

"Oh no," I warned, "You are not going to go in that room and shoot him."

"And whose gonna stop me?" he challenged.

"Me" I stood between him and the door.

I sensed this fight would be coming. I just didn't think I would have to take him down quietly. Not so quietly. The girl sure could make a racket. But quietly nontheless.

He left hooked me. I knocked his fist to the inside and aimed a punch into his jaw, where it meets the skull. Instant fight ender. Unfortunately, Parker knew my style. He tucked his chin in so my fist collided with the side of his head. It would hurt, but it wouldn't be paralyzing. He absorbed my blow and swung at my stomach. I side stepped and chopped at his neck. In flash, he blocked it. He twisted my wrist. I brought m knee up to his stomach, he doubled over and dropped my wrist. I brought down my hand to chop his neck.

He rolled away. And resumed his fighting stance. He looked ready to start round two when he suddenly jerked to the left.

"Ow, ow, ow ow!" he complained, "that hurts, Sarah!"

His miniscule wife rolled her eyes, "No fighting!" she commanded.

"Can't you hear that?" of course we could. Dear god, had she gotten _louder? _"That's Christie and Jake!"

"He must be really good in the sack, then," she said, "And let your sister have some fun. It seems like she really cares for this boy."

"She's my sister!"

"When you have to go up to the water tower with a paint bucket, that's when you can defend her honor," defined Sarah.

"What water tower? We live in DC!"

"So then you won't have to defend her honor," she said. She then began to drag her husband away, "Come on, lets see if you can make _me _scream that loud," my god, was it starting up again?

"Don't say that in _public!"_

That was weird for two reasons: I had not expected Sarah to intervene.

And Lisa does the exact same pull the ear thing to _me._

**Again, it is my pitiful attempt at fluff and dirty humor.**

** Please review.**


	21. More Dreams

** No more fluff, back to buisness. SPOILERS FOR GOOP ON THE GIRL!**

** Christie**

I dreamed again that night.

_I was in some sort of autopsy room. Around a metal table were a collection of flat screen TVs, the old kind, plasma. The walls were full of semi-transparent drawers. From what I could see, they were full of bones._

_ Sitting on the table was the man I had come to know as my father. This time, instead of casual clothes, he was wearing a nice business suit. The shirt was untucked and was stained with what looked like soot, but it looked nice anyway. . It was amazing, once I really started to look at him, I could see the similarities between us. We had the same eye color. He sat on the table just like I do. He looked so much like Parker, except he was slimmer, smaller, and his hair was dark brown, not dirty blond, and longer to._

_ Behind him was mom, wearing the same lab coat that I had seen the others wear. She seemed to be carefully removing something from his back with a pair of tweezers. She placed them in a specimen jar on a surgical tray next to her. Mom seemed in her element here, even more so than in the ppolice station. I looked closer. They were a sort of whitish-yellow color, stained with red mushy stuff. Then I realized what they were._

_ Human fragments._

_ Dad asked Mom, "Did you hear anything back on that cab driver?"_

_ "No," she answered, "but Cam is in touch with the hospital," she fished one more fragment off the back of his jacket. She set down he tweezers and turned back to Dad, "I have to remove your clothing now."_

_ I fell off the table. I think Dad would have to, but he only stiffened and asked "Why?!"_

_ "Well, there maybe particulates," she explained in a completely natural voice. My mom is possibly the only person on earth that is as comfortable talking about sex as to wonder why people consider it a sensitive topic. Lets just say my "birds and the bees" talk left much to be desired. Thankfully my priest is very understanding._

_ "Oh right," agreed Dad, though he looked no less uncomfortable, "Particulates."_

_ "Evidence for Hodgins," she said, "And flesh for Cam."_

_ "Ya know," Dad began, "the bomber said something about 'answering the call'. What do you think that means?"_

_ Mom walked to the front of Dad and began to remove his tie, "Many terrorist feel they are acting upon divine instruction," she explained._

_ "I don't think he was a terrorist," reasoned Dad quietly, "I just think he was a bank robber," Dad looked extremely uncomfortable._

_ "Spatter on the back of your collar," informed Mom._

_ "Spatter?"_

_ Mom then reached for the buttons on his shirt. He tried to do it for her but she gently pushed his hands away, "Don't, you'll compromise the evidence."_

_ "Right," he agreed._

_ "I'm, having Christmas dinner this year with my dad," she hesitantly said. So, even here, Mom isn't a Christmas fan. I hadn't even heard of the holiday till I was four. It was around the time I converted and became a Catholic, "Considering you've been shunted aside by your own family, I'd... like to invite you."_

_ Dad smiled a bit, "That's a sweet invitation,"_

_ She carefully pulled of his shirt. He wasn't a tank like Parker, but he was muscular, "So?" she asked, "Will you come?" I could hear a bare trace of hope in her voice._

_ "I don't know," he admitted, "I've been thinking about going up to Quebec to see Parker. I don't care what Rebecca thinks." so Parker's mom is named Rebecca?_

_ "Well, if you do that won't she retaliate by insisting on coming to all your special times with Parker?"_

_ Dad shrugged a little, "Yeah," he admitted._

_ Mom seemed to look at Booth closely, "You have a perfect cromin," she remarked._

_ Dad smiled at that. He slid off the table and saw Mom kneel down in front of him and reach for his belt. Which was _awesome_, by the way. _Cocky, _nice, "Oh, what is there stuff on my pants?" he asked. The uncomfortable look returned._

_ "Yeah," replied Mom, "Vascular tissue on you _Cocky _beltbuckle." she undid the buckle and slid the belt right out._

Please let this not be the place and time I am conceived_, I prayed._

_ "Oh, right," said Dad, "slides right off." he looked _very _uncomfortable_._ So was I, "And were done." he finished hopefully._

_ "Nope," answered Mom, "I have to remove your pants." _WHAT?! Remove his pants?! How can you cay that so calmly?!

_I didn't think possible, but Dad looked even more uncomfortable than before, "Alright, i'm just gonna... recite some saints." Mom unbuttoned him and began to drag the pants down to his ankles, "St. Josef, St. Peter, St. Paul, St. John,..."_

_ Cam walked in. she stared in what looked like happy surprise and embarrassment. The look on Mom's face didn't help, "Anyone for mistletoe?"_

I jerked awake. I panted. I could feel sweat rolling down my back.

"You okay?" asked a voice in the darkness. Memories from before the dream came flooding back. Happy memories.

I curled up closer to his warm body, "Never better."

**REMEMBER: REVIEWS EQUEL NEW CHAPTER!**


	22. Morning

**I realize that there must be some confuison about how Christie and Jake's relationship is going (is it me or does this sound like a soap opera? Unlike Trev, I hate soap operas.) so this chapter will help remedy that.**

** Christie**

"Bad dream?"

"Not really," I said, "Remember the dream I had that started this?"

"The one about your father being shot?" he guessed.

"Yep," I snuggled closer, "I had another one like it."

"Want to talk about it?" he asked.

"No," I said, "It's like my own private bond with my father," I giggled.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"I think Dad would shoot you if he saw us like this," I explained, "I think Parker would."

I heard him sigh. He wrapped his arms around me. He didn't say anything, but something was bothering him. After being his best friend and jealous of every girl that flirted with him(Not many. Those snobbish bitches wouldn't know a good man if he shoved his thing in their faces) I knew him well enough ti know that something was bothering him, "What's wrong**?"**

"You think we're going to fast?" he asked, "I mean, we only found out our feelings for each other a few hours ago."

"No," I answered, "I learned of my feelings for you in sophomore year."

"Cindi Beck?"

"Yep," I sighed. Cindi and me would have been friends if she hadn't gone after Jake. After that everything went downhill, "I was so jealous. But I wanted you to be happy."

"I'm touched," he said, "But not what I asked."

"What do you mean?" I asked, "Am I just-"

"_NO! _No," he shook his head, "I just _really _don't want to lose you."

"You won't lose me," I assured.

"You say that now," Jake said, "But what about later, when we fight? I don't want kids, you do. I think things through, you don't"

"You're right," I agreed, "I don't think things through. I _feel_ things through. And I have a feeling that _this_," I hugged him closer, "is going to last a _very _long time."

"Feelings change," he said.

"Yeah," again I agreed, "They do. A few days ago, I wanted to join the Army to see the world. To get some excitement. Know I want to join to get closer to Dad. Trev said that he was a Ranger. Maybe I will go there. My point is, I will change. But I will change with you."

"I'm gonna miss you when you go to college," Jake admitted, "Maybe I can go with you."

"Don't," I refused, feeling my heart break.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"You got a full ride scholarship to Harvard," I said, "You have a bright future ahead of you. Get your degree there. I won't forget you at Washington State."

"Promise me you won't fall for a football jock when I'm gone?" he asked.

"Not a chance in hell," I assured, "He wouldn't be as good as you in the sack."

"Which reminds me," he said, "I have to invest in ear plugs."

"What can I say? With you, control goes out the window," I giggled again, "Don't fall for a English Lit major when you get to Harvard, promise?"

"Not a chance in hell," he kissed my forehead, "No one at Harvard could hold a candle to you. With or without clothes." he lifted the comforter and looked under.

"You ain't so bad yourself," I commented, looking myself, "My big friend is up as well," I laughed.

"Traitor," he swore, "Please Christie, you rubbed me raw. Now it just hurts."

"Take pain," I kissed him softly on the lips, "And I don't remember you complaining last night. Just a quickie."

"You wouldn't have heard me over yourself," he commented. I guess my screams of pleasure will forever be commented on, "Besides, with you, nothing is 'Just a quickie'."

"We better get started."

* * *

We were into round three when Trev came in and threw a bucket of ice water over us. My curses at him were so inventive when I thought back on it even _I _was impressed. He wasn't.

"You can't compete with the boys in 2nd Squad," he commented, "Alright, lovebirds, get dressed and take a cold shower. _Separately,_" damn, "Me and Christie are meeting with Parker and Sarah at Lisa's bakery in Little Korea in one hour."

"Why can't I go?" asked Jake.

"Cause Parker heard you to last night and would have shot you if it hadn't been for me and Sarah," he explained, "You and Angela are going a psychiatric hospital."

"Why?" I asked.

"A grad student of your mom's is interred their," Trev explained, "He assisted in a homicide for a serial killer so crazy he makes me look like a Southern Gentleman."

"Why am I going to meet a psycho?"

"He's not a psycho," commented Trev, "He had a weak personality and was manipulated. He is no more crazy than Angela and Hodgins."

"Then why is he in a psychiatric hospital and not jail?"

"He pleaded guilty and supplied them with information on the killer," Trev explained, "In exchange he was given _non compus mentis_ and put in a psychiatric hospital. According to him, he would have done very poorly in prison. Right now I a threatening slash bribing a few Senators and Congressmen to give him a full pardon and get him released."

I noticed something. Trev had a gray parlor and slight bags under his eyes, "How much sleep did you get last night?" I asked.

"None," he said, "In between keeping Parker away and digging up dirt, I had to call in favors to stall your execution."

"Our execution?" I asked. It did not sound good.

"Yeah," he said, "Because my assignment wasn't officially over and you hold highly classified information, you are seen as a loose end. We can't afford the paper trail requiered to imprison you, they sent assassins over to kill you and your mom."

"Is she in danger?" asked Jake.

"No," Trev answered, "I made some threats and called in all my favors. My career in black ops is over, but so long as no one opens their mouth, we are all safe."

"Your career is over?" I asked.

"Burn notice came through this morning," he said, "They freezed all my accounts and transferred all my contacts. But they only freezed the ones they know about, and I got a lot of people on the street and in private companies who can supply me with info when I need it. They essentially did nothing."

I felt guilty. He lost his entire career because he wanted my mother to move on. He knew he would get burned, yet he did it anyway, "I'm sorry about your career."

He shrugged, "It's okay. I was thinking of retiring anyway. Maybe not know, but I a few years. I got over $5 billion in various accounts in Swiss banks and the Cayman Islands."

_"$5 BILLION?"_ We both exclaimed.

"Yeah," he said, "I would drain the accounts of my marks and sometimes swindle their enemies into thinking I was a hired assassin. Then I started my own business, TRAVCO. Since I am the majority stockholder, all the money is wired to various accounts."

"What assassin did you pose as?" asked Jake, "When you swindled their enemies."

"Jake Tanner."

Jake's eyes widened and his jaw dropped, "_You _are the infamous Jake Tanner? The most wanted person in Canada and Cuba?"

"Yeah," he smiled and got a dreamy look on his face, "Killing Castro was fun."

"Wait," I stopped Jake before he could ask anymore questions. Then I noticed he was fully dressed. I wasn't. I was only wearing what looked like _very_ transparent bed sheet. I got up and pulled on some underwear, "How did we get from your sleeping habits to wanted assassins?"

"Well-"

"Don't answer that," ordered as I pulled on a top, "How much sleep had you had since this started, when you fought Mom?"

"About six hours.

I stared at him, "It's been _four days."_

"I know," he rubbed his eyes. He must be exhausted, "I am running on caffeine tablets right now. I'm going to sleep _after_ the meeting with Sarah and Parker. I live in the flat above the place with Lisa."

"Maybe I'll throw cold water on _you_ when you to are making love," I threatened.

"Good luck," he said, "Me and Lisa don't have sex. Which she complains about nonstop."

"Why not?" I asked.

"I don't feel- Why am I telling you this?" he asked.

"Cause you know I won't stop," I explained, "How long has it been?"

"Same night I conceived Jenny. I was eighteen and drunk."

"Why the hiatus?" I asked.

"When you see you squad-mates blown to pieces it's hard to feel love," he said, "I suffered from PTSD after my first tour in Afghanistan. After six days home, I asked for a transfer to an active combat unit."

"I think you should get back on the horse," I suggested, "Make her scream just like Jake did to me." I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows at Jake.

"Christie!" he looked cute embarrassed.

"Thanks, but when I don't have to keep your former spec ops brother from killing your boyfriend, that's when you can give me tips on my lovelife," he said, "Speaking of which, Parker is a better fighter than your father."

"He is?" I asked.

"Yep. While Booth could cut the heart out of a army, he didn't have much in the way of strategic planning," explained Trev, "But Parker was an officer in the Force Recon. Youngest Major in Marine history. Parker can stratagize, something Booth sucked at."

"Wow," whistled Jake, "Your family sure is military proficient."

"You have no idea kid," said Trev, "Her grandfather flew planes in Vietnam. Her great-grandfather was a MP. Her great-great-grandfather served in the Philipines during the Spanish-American war. And her great-great-great-grandfather was John Wilkes Booth."

"The famous assassin?" I asked.

"Yep," confirmed Trev, "All the family suffered from what I call 'Booth syndrome'."

"'Booth syndrome'?"

"Yeah. Every one of the Booth clan killed someone and expressed great sorrow and remorse afterward."

**Remember, I WRITE FOR REVIEWS!**


	23. Sending Sarah

**Parker**

_Bzzt, Bzzt, Bzzt._

_ Grrr._

"Turn it off," ordered Sarah, "Go back to sleep."

"Text message," I groaned. I unwillingly untangled myself enough to reach back and grab my phone. I opened to message.

_1134 Lilly Pad rd. in Little Korea. Be there by 1000. Bring Sarah. Tell her I'm calling in that favor she owes me. Trev. PS, Leave some room in your stomach._

What the hell? What favor? "It's from Trevodur," I said, "He wants us to meet him at 1134 Lilly Pad rd. in Little Korea in... three hours."

"Tell him to go screw himself," she chastised, her eyes still closed. She curled closer to me.

"He says to tell you he's calling in the favor you owe him," I said, "What favor is that?"

"He saved me from the Facility," she breathed, "Well, at least we get to sleep a few more hours."

"You do," I informed, "_I _get to weight lift for the next few hours," I had missed the last few days and was feeling lethargic.

"Stay in bed for a few more hours," she begged. When she couldn't get what she wanted from me by bossing me, she begged me. Somehow, it worked every time.

"Fine," I conceded, "I'll weight lift tonight."

"Thank you," she kissed me on the lips, "My very big Hulk."

"Your welcome, Betty Ross," I kissed back.

_Beep, Beep, Beep._

I hate that phone. I cursed and again reached back and grabbed it. Jack. I pressed the little green phone button, but before I could bring it to my ear, Sarah grabbed my hand and brought the phone, and my hand to her ear, "_This had better be important because you interrupted what promised to be very good sex and if it is not I will hunt you down and kill you._" she listened for a moment and put a hand over the speaker and asked, "Jack says that the DNA results came in and Christie is your sister and Brennan's daughter. That important?"

"Nope," I replied, "Bone structure doesn't lie."

"Your a dead man walking," she said into the phone before hanging up. She gave me back my arm.

"That was so hot," I commented.

"I know," she replied with a grin.

* * *

Good news: Jake wasn't there. I might have shot him for what she had done to her last night. It was hard enough to see Christie walk funny.

The bakery was pretty busy. Old Korean women sat at the tables, munching on some kind of flat bread or... is that Mexican Sweetbread? What is that doing in Little Korea? They spoke in tones like they were gossiping, but I couldn't be sure. I didn't speak Korean.

I saw Trevodur's eyes flick to one table in the corner. He spoke something in a loud voice I Korean. They looked chastised, and started to eat their meal quietly.

"Sorry about that," he said as he sat down, "Lisa's bakery is the gossip center for Little Korea."

"What were they talking about?" I asked.

"Your size," he said, "and Christie's walk."

Christie raised an eyebrow "Do they speak English?" she asked.

"Fluently," he answered.

She turned towards the ladies and told them , "My boyfriend, and it's not my brother or him," she jabbed her thumb towards us, "Two thumbs, way up!" the ladies burst into hysterical laughter and I buried my face in my hands.

"If you're done?" he asked and rubbed his eyes. He looked like shit. A small, petite Asian women set a mug in front of him and poured coffee into it, "Thanks," he kissed her on the cheek. He turned to me and Sarah, "This is Lisa, my girlfriend."

"Huh?!" I asked. From the stories I heard in the Force Recon, he didn't have enough emotion to say hi to a friend, let alone have a girlfriend.

"I wasn't hatched," he commented.

"All the stories I heard were that-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he interrupted, "All true. Remember, your dad brought me out of my psychopathic tendencies a bit."

"So you must be the son of the famous Seeley Booth," she said and extended her hand. I shook it, "I thank God everyday that your father did bring him back from the darkness. Otherwise, I would be dead."

"Later," he clarified before Sarah or me could ask, "Sarah, Parker, there is a reason I brought Christie here and not Brennan."

And he outlined his plan. It was a long shot, and hit a big snag with both mine and his former CO being an investigator on Christie's disappearance. But it was also _good_. It left enough room for improvisation and was simple and effective if it worked, "You were waisted as a NCO," I commented.

"Officers do more paperwork," he explained.

"True," _very _true.

"Now here is where you might not like it," he said, "I got Jake's Gramps running emotional support, but your mom arrested him. It's to risky to get a message to him. So, I need Sarah to bring her to DC. There will be danger, but only slightly."

"What danger?" I asked. Sarah eyes flicked to mine. We both knew I wouldn't let her anywhere that smelled on danger.

"Instead of listening to Sarah, Brennan might just shoot her," he clarified. I could certainly imagine that.

"No way," I refused. Suddenly, a sharp pain in my ear made me lean to the right, "Ow, ow, ow!"

"I can make up my own mind, Parker," she said. Still not letting go of my ear, she agreed, "I'll do it."

She let go of my ear. I rubbed the sore appendage, "I was only thinking of your safety," I complained.

She kissed me on the cheek, "I know," she said, "And it's sweet, but I got to repay this favor."

"Can you teach me how to do that?" asked Christie

"It's genetic," said Lisa, "I do the same thing to him."

"Don't remind me," said Trev, sipping his coffee.

"I'll go with you," I offered.

Trevodur shook his head, "No" he ordered, "Brennan doesn't know Sarah. She knows you. You might adversely effect her decision."

"How?" asked Christie.

"Your mom went into hiding for a reason," He said, "Except for your size and hair, you look like a Booth clone. You might scare her away."

"Damn," I swore, "That's a good reason."

"Are we clear?" he asked.

We nodded. He got up and said "Good," he drew out a plane ticket and set it on the table, "Plane leaves in one hour, Dulles International."

**I seem to have too repeat myself**

** 3 REVIEWS=NEW CHAPTER!**


	24. Sarah meets Brennan

**All right, here it is. The long awaited brining Brennan to DC. This is where it begins.**

** Sarah**

I really did not know what I was doing. The door was open. Maybe just a crack. I gently pushed it open and called "Hello? Anyone home?"

I heard no answer. I couldn't help my curiosity. I went in.

It was a functional house. The stairs leading to the second story were on my left. They were painted white and had a dark blue carpet. The door leading to the garage was a little farther on my right. Down the hall was the kitchen on the left and living room on the right.

I walked down the hall. The living room was plain if functional. The same dark blue carpet on the stairs and coffee-and-creme colored couch and love seat. The old, flat screen TV was mounted above the fireplace. Bookshelves covered the walls.

I felt something dig into my back. The barrel of a gun. I hesitantly raised my hands.

"Who are you?" asked a female voice, full of command and weariness.

"Sarah," I answered. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my hammering heart, "Sarah Booth."

I felt the gun shake a little. She remained silent. Finally she asked "Did you say 'Booth'?" her voice sounded brittle.

I slowly turned around. Gun pointed at me, her eyes laser focused and trying to hold back memories, was the same women from the photo. But she looked more tired. Like she hadn't gotten more than a few hours sleep for the past few days.

I gulped. I saw now why Trev thought she might shoot me, "I am married to NCIS Special Agent Parker James Booth," I announced, "Your former partners son."

_"No!"_ she insisted, her eyes brimming with tears. She jerked her gun toward me, _"I left that life! My name isn't Temperance Brennan anymore! I buried the past!"_ some tears started to fall, _"I am Sheriff Joy Mary Ann Keenan! I don't know a Seeley Booth!"_

I gulped. A emotionally unstable person pointing a gun at you is _not_ a pleasant experience.

Finally she lowered her gun. She regained some of her composure. She took deep breaths and asked, "Parker, how is he?"

"Why did you leave?" I asked, ignoring her question.

She holstered her weapon. She gestured toward the kitchen and the table in the middle. She warmed up some water. We didn't speak as she made coffee. She set a mug in front of me. I didn't drink it. I couldn't.

She sat down and took a sip, "I didn't want to," she said, "After Booth died, I saw reminders of him everywhere. Reminders of what could have been. Reminders of what was. But most of all, reminders of what _is_. That he was gone. That he wasn't coming back. When I found out I was pregnant, I just couldn't bear the thought of those reminders. I ran away. I wanted to only have one reminder. Christine." she looked into her coffee cup and fell silent.

"Parker is doing great," I offered, "He works as a Probationary Special Agent at the Navy Criminal Investigative Service. He has doctorates in both Cultural and Forensic Anthropology."

She chuckled and smiled a sad smile. I could see what Christie meant by saying she just seemed sad. She wore her grief like a cloak, it just permeated the air around her, "Parker is a Forensic Anthropologist?"

"A good one to," I said, "But he spends most of his time at NCIS, solving murders that don't require his skill. The ones that do he gets shipped out for."

"What else has he done since I left?" she asked.

"Joined the Force Recon," I said, "Doesn't talk about it much. He was discharged for psychological stress."

She looked saddened. I guess, even after leaving, she still cared for Parker, "What is he like?"

"He's been compared to his father," I explained. Somehow, I felt a connection to this women, "He's been told that he is a clone of his father down to the personality. Except for his size and intelligence.

She laughed once at that, "He's always been small for his age."

"Small?" I scoffed, "He's _huge._ He's been compared to the Hulk on more than one occasion."

"I don't know what that means." she stated blankly.

"Hulk. You know, Hulk Smash?"

"Is he a wrestler?" she asked. Did she genuinely did not know who the Hulk was?

"Comic book superhero," I quickly explained, "Anyway, Parker is _very _big now."

"Oh," she went back to staring at her coffee. I still hadn't touched mine, "It's good coffee," she said.

"I'm sure it is," I said, "But I can't."

"I made you coffee," she said, "Proper social convention says you should drink it."

"It does," I agreed, "But the fetus in my belly says 'don't'." there it is, the secret I hadn't even told my husband about.

"Congratulations," she said, a genuine smile on her face. She seemed really happy, if not for me, then for Parker.

"He doesn't know," I said. I felt real nervous about telling him. I was going to tell him after the meeting a lifetime ago, but that was before Jack called.

"Is it-"

"Of course!" I exclaimed, "I just, hadn't worked up the stones to tell him."

"I actually know what that means!" she said in a somewhat exited voice. But her heart wasn't in it.

"If he is as like his father as people say," I asked, "How will he take it."

"He will love you for it," she said quickly, "Even if you keep the child away, like Rebecca did, he will still love you for simply being the mother of his child."

I took comfort in that. I smiled at her.

"How did you find me?" she asked.

Great. I made a new friend and now she will probably hate my guts. I took a deep breath, "Christie is in DC."

Her face morphed to disbelief, "What?" she asked.

"The guy who shot the drug dealer was a student of Seeley's" I said, "He still thinks he owes him. He convinced Christie to follow him to DC and meet Parker and me," I lied.

"You're lying!" she accused.

"Christie said to tell you 'Dancing Phalanges'," I countered. She gasped and covered her mouth. The tears were back in her eyes. I had one more thing to say, "She also told me to tell you that she...um.. quote 'Jumped Jake so hard I'm surprised that I didn't leave a mark'." I blushed.

She seemed torn between laughter and tears. I think laughter won out a little bit because she chuckled and tears silently streamed down her face, "She did? When?"

"Yesterday," I clarified, "Parker wants to shoot him."

"I imagine he does," she chuckled. She pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. She waited around ten secounds before saying, "Calson, it's Keenan... I found out where Christie is.... with her brother, Parker... yes, your former underling...DC.... I have his wife in front of me right now... get here soon." she hung up. She turned toward me, "Hope you like flying coach."

**Three reviews=1 new chapter.**


	25. Home sounds nice

**Zack**

I waited patently for my daily visit. Today Angela would come and tell me stories about her son, or show me a new piece of art that she created. Or maybe she would bring me a "hard" but really not, math problem. Until then, I would occupy my time studying in the college program here at the hospital. I have come to see it as hospital after seeing many a special needs person walk out and blend into normal society seamlessly. However, since I am considered dangerous, I can never be released.

Right now I was working on my doctorate in U.S. History. I had already completed my doctorates in Law, Medicine, Cultural Anthropology, and even, to Dr. Sweets slight chagrin, Psychology. There is not much to do around here, other than play basket ball. My use of complex geometry and algorithms in the sport has drastically improved. I could now make "Hail Marys" from behind the half court line fairly easily.

But one thing that I miss is a challenging game of chess. I would go to retirement homes and play the elderly residents there. Those old timers had played for years, and had thousands of interesting strategies that they knew of. Jack or Angela would play me, but they weren't very good in comparison. So I would sit in front of a chess board, fully set up, and mentally play against myself.

Well, this is interesting. Angela brought a new comer. He was tall, and showed signs of weight lifting, though by the musculature he began fairly recently. His mid-length hair was lazily pushed down. He wore a navy blue t-shirt, blue jeans, and black cold weather jacket. He regarded me with a serious, weary face. It was the face I had often observed on Agent Booth, when he was gagging whether or not a person was a threat.

"Good morning, Angela," I greeted my former co-worker, "I have not met him."

"Zack, this is Jake," she introduced, "Jake is-"

"It's complicated and a long story," he interrupted. He glanced at the chess board, "How about we talk about it over a game of chess?"

"That would be acceptable," I agreed. His weariness increased.

We began to play. He explained everything to me. Christine, Agent Booth's and Dr. Brennan's daughter, her running away, becoming a Sheriff, a black ops psychopath named Trev, his status as a former student of Agent Booth's, his plan to help Brennan recover from Agent Booth's death. To prove it, he supplied me with a picture of Christine and her mother, and DNA test results. The bone structure is congruent between the two supposed parents. This Trev has a good grasp on underlying bone structure.

My ability to compartmentalize served me well in this game. This Jake was a skilled player, a prodigy. Many times he surprised me by moving a piece that I did not expect. His underlying grasp of strategy and the rules of the game was excellent. He continuously surprised me by seeming to change strategies instantaneously, and kept me on my toes, in figurative language.

In the end, my mathematical skill and excellent skill in chess did not serve me as well as I thought. He beat me. I lost.

"You have a large degree of skill in this game," I observed, "I greatly enjoyed this challenge."

"You're not so bad yourself," he said, "So, you believe me?"

"I do not have all the evidence," I explained, "But preliminary findings support your claims."

"I hoped that you would learn to live a little among the crazies," quipped Angela, "But you are still the over-logical squint we all know and love."

"I admit to holding logic in high esteem, and try to implement it into my everyday life as much as possible," I said, "But I am no longer a 'squint' as I no longer, as I do not study remains or use the scientific method as a way of supporting myself."

Jake laughed at that. He seemed to be relaxing by small amounts around me. I believe that Booth would say that he is reading me as a non-threat. This makes sense from a Anthropological standpoint.

I heard Angela's phone ring. She answered with a "Hello?" and then she pulled it away from her ear and placed it on speaker.

_"Dr. Addy?"_

"Yes?" I asked.

_"Name's Trev. I used to be a sniper student of-"_

"Agent Booth," I finished, "Jake has already told me about you."

_"He told you that I am a violent, psychopathic bastard that would kill anyone, right?"_

"No, he described you as a psychopathic Black Ops assassin that would do anything to get his job done."

_"Close enough. I just got off the phone with several judges, Senators, Congressman, and all those blood suckers."_

"I would not believe-"

"Figurative language, Zack," Angela quickly explained.

_"I've been working on getting you a pardon. At twelve o'clock a today, you are a free man."_

What?

"Be kind, rewind. What did you say?" I asked.

_"They told me you were smart. I just pulled some favors and blackmailed some people. Not that hard. Anyway, tell everyone that they can talk to me in fourteen hours. I'm going to sleep. I'm running on coffee and caffeine tablets. If you disturb my sleep, China had better have broken through the battle lines and bombers are over our heads." _With that, he hung up. The dial tone was the only thing that broke the silence.

"Oh, Zack!" exclaimed Angela. She hugged me. She seemed ecstatic, "You can move back into our house! Jack can get your room just like you never left!"

I stared ahead in complete surprise and confusion, "Why would a stranger try to get me out of this asylum?"

"I asked him," said Angela, "I asked him for a favor and he said yes! You're finally coming home!"

Home. That sounds nice.

**Next Chapter deals with Brennan landing in DC, and meeting Parker for the first time in almost nineteen years.**

** 3 REVIEWS=1 NEW CHAPTER**


	26. Time line

**Mendenbar asked me to create a time-line of the story so far. So, for those of you who also want a time-line. Here it is.**

August 6, 1999: Funerals of Mary Annita Trevodur, Daniel Armstrong Trevodur, and Steven Bryan Trevodur.

June 5, 2005: Funeral of Sergeant Major Jon Micheal Trevodur.

June 5, 2005: Black Ops assassin codenamed TREV is activated.

June 6, 2005: Scott Demmin, wanted for espionage, is found dead in his home. The name _Jake Tanner _is written on the wall.

October 3, 2005: Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth is assigned to mentor TREV in the use of long-range riflery.

October 12, 2005: Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth has labeled TREV proficent in the use of designated sharpshooter skills.

January 15, 2006: Annual psychological analysis of TREV have shown change. TREV no longer displays emotionlessness, and has developed a sense of morality.

January 15, 2007: Annual psychological analysis of TREV have shown little change. TREV shows signs of stress. Attempts to hide what appear to be painful emotions behind sarcasm and dark humor,

January 15, 2008: Annual psychological analysis of TREV have shown little change. TREV shows signs of stress. TREV exerts himself tremendously. He studies advanced topics and has recently received doctorates on both Medicine and Chemistry. Continously mocks therapist assigned to evaluate him,

January 15, 2009: Annnual psychological analysis of TREV have shown little change. TREV's inncreasing stress is causing rebellion. On assignments, he takes continous risks and appears to entertain himself by watching law enforcement try to catch him when they attempt to solve the murders he commits. Repeatedly escapes from his headquaters and makes contact with Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth. The two appear to have a mutual friendship.

January 15, 2010: Annual psychological analysis of TREV have shown little change from last evaluation, but TREV has changed tremendously in the last five years. Stress is becoming indicative of his behavior. Emotionally unstable, and dedicated to killing only those he is assigned to kill. On the last mission, made contact with someone from his past. He appears to have learned that he procreated with a women by the name of Alyssa Marie Stenson. His attitude has not change drastically, but breaks out of HQ frequently and checks to see his daughter Jennifer Jon Trevodur is healthy and well. Protectiveness of loved ones from his former life is now stronger.

November 3, 2010: Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth is killed.

November 30, 2010: Funeral of Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth.

December 2, 2010: Dr Temperance Joy Brennan is declared missing.

January 15, 2010: Annual psychological analysis of TREV has shown drastic change. His former behavior appears forced, except the check up visit's to his progeny is more frequent. He appears to be morning the death of his friend, Special Agent Seeley Joseph Booth.

February 16, 2010: TREV did not make contact with his handler. Is assumed missing and has subsequently been burned.

February 18, 2010: Sarah May McGee is declared missing

July 25, 2011: Christine Seeley Keenan is born in Los Angeles General Hospital.

August 4, 2011: Joy Keenan joins the Los Angeles Police Department.

August 23, 2025: North Korean and Chinese troops land in San Fransisco.

August 30, 2025: Asian Communist Forces are halted for four days in the Inland Empire Valley, due to a large amounts of resistance from local veterans and citizens. ACF eventualy resorts to nuclear bombardment to clear Valley.

September 16, 2025: Asian Comunist Forces are halted in the Seirra-Nevada Moutains.

January 2, 2026: Sarah May McGee is found.

January 14, 2026: Marvin McKorn is found dead in his home. Cause of death is gunshot wound to the kidney.

January 23, 2026: Micheal Stevick is found dead in the Colorado River. Cause of death is forced drowning.

February 1, 2026: Allison McKenzie is found dead in Convict Lake. Cause of death is strangulation with a shoelace.

February 12, 2026: John Miles is found murderdered in an alleyway in New York. Cause of death is gunshots to the kidney.

February 23, 2026: Alex Lomeli is found beaten to death in a cabin in Yellowstone National Park.

March 1, 2026: Nelson Hayworth is found dead in his bathtub. Cause of death is electric-shock induced heart attack.

March 9, 2026: Robert Claypool is found dead at a construction site in Chicago. Drowned in tar.

March 14, 2026: John Roberts is found dead in his home. Cause of death is gunshots to the kidney.

March 20, 2026: Micheal Stiller is found dead in his apartment in Baltimore. Cause of death is strangulation.

March 30, 2026: Michele Mizerkewitz is found dead in her home. Cause of death is potassium poisoning.

April 5, 2026: Sarah Anderson is found dead in her home. Cause of death is drowning in her sink.

April 12, 2026: Mary Dono is found beaten to death in a shack outside of New Orleans.

April 17, 2026: Jake Kim is found dead. Cause of death is forced drowning.

April 23, 2026: Jake Ackling is found dead. Cause of death is strangulation

April 30, 2026: Marcus Smith is found dead. Cause of death is being burned alive.

May 6, 2026: Allison Smart is found dead. Cause of death is gunshot to the kidney.

May 18, 2026: Mark Danower is found dead. Cause of death is sharp-force trauma to the kidney.

May 19, 2026: TREV makes contact with CIA operative. Burn Notice is revoked. TREV is reassigned.

July 24, 2029, 1530: TREV emails picture to Dr Jack Hodgins.

July 25, 2029, 0148: TREV leaves mission and takes Christine Seeley Keenan and Jake Mark Breckenwitz to Washington, District of Colombia.

July 25, 2029, 1030: Jake Mark Breckenwitz meets with Dr Zackary Uriah Addy.

July 26, 2029, 1130: Sarah May Booth is flown to Oakridge Airport.

July 26, 2029, 1200: Dr Zackary Uriah Addy is pardonded and is relaesed from Mckinlet Psychatric Hospital.

**Those people that Trev killed, they were the heads of the project that froze him. Remember, he went "hunting"?**


	27. Meeting Dr Bones, and Trev's nightmares

**Okay, sorry again for not updating. Writers block. And I know that most of the chapter has nothing to do with the story.**

**Parker**

I can't believe it, I actually want Castle's help on this one.

I mean, how should I feel, knowing that in thirty minutes, the women I spent eighteen years looking for, will walk through those doors. She's a psychologist, she would know. She was my teammate, she was like a sister to me now. Sure, we fought non-stop, every conversation became a argument. But we had a professional respect for one another. She was raised by her dad her whole life, she still had a loving father and step-mom. Ever since Mom died of cancer a week before I graduated from high school, I had to grow up on my own. It's why I was so protective of Sarah, why I would walk through fire for her.

I turned to watching people. Castle watched people to find psychological markers, I did to find their history from the little anomalies in their gait, the way they swing their arms. I can tell from a person's walk whether they are from the Rockies or Appalachians, North, South, Midwest, Southwest, Northwest. I can see if they suffered from a broken leg from when they were twelve and then re broke it again.

When Dr Bones walked through those doors, all my attention shifted to her.

She had gotten older. Her Auburn hair was streaked with gray. Her eyes were tired, but alert and calculating. She was slightly paler than before, but the way she carried herself showed strength and leadership.

But, at the same time, she hadn't changed. Her eyes were still the same cornflower blue. She examined every thing her eyes saw. Her walk was one of purpose, effiecient and fluid.

All these things, they showed the passage of time and that some things don't change.

I smiled, "Hi, Dr Bones."

**Trev**

Dreams are a bitch.

_Mass graves. Good hiding place. Not a place you want to hide, but still._

_Mission: infiltrate(what I do best) the Chinese camp and cut off the head of the division leadership. Without experienced officers, they will be easy pickings for the Ranger battalion they are going to throw through these mountains._

_This particular mass grave full of the inhabitants of Paso de Robles, Pass of the Oaks. I knew a friend who lived here when I was a kid. I hadn't seen him since I joined the Corps. He probably moved long before the ACF came. So I could focus on the missoin._

_The search light shone through the grave. The blank and dead stares of it's inhabitants were thrown into disarray as sharp shadows were played across their faces._

_The face in front of me was illuminated._

_No. NO. _NO!

_Max... you should have left years ago... my friend..._

_The second the light left the grave, I launched my self from my lying position. My knife was gripped securely in my hand._

_Sergeant Major Jon Michael Trevodur was awarded the Medal of Honor for going above and beyond the call of duty. Trev would be rewarded for destroying a division worth of officers._

_I don't know how much blood I would spill for my revenge, but I would not stop until it was sated._

_The rivers ran red._

_Standing at their graves. It hurt so much._

* * *

_Mom. Dad. Stevie._

_We had to save. I refused to let Sam buy us mourning clothes. We wore black t-shirts and any black pants we had. We would need all the money we could get._

_I wouldn't allow myself to mourn. Not till Sam had his diploma and we weren't in danger of being thrown on the streets. None of my Aunts and Uncles could afford the three of us. I had two jobs, and football to finish. I would pay for my lunches and football fees and any other things that I wanted from the money I earned polishing shoes throughout the year._

_We sold the house. Moved into an apartment the size of shoe box. But Sam, Maggs and I were a family. We stayed together._

_I joined the Corps because of money. Sam was so close to getting his diploma. If he got his degree, he could get a job that didn't pay minimum wage. The Corps would get me hazardous duty easier. I would use the extra and send it to Sam and Maggs._

_I would take care of my family._

* * *

_I ran. Bumfuck, Bosnia was not a good place to get in a gunfight. I had an entire platoon of Serbs after me. They wanted blood for their fallen commander._

_I kicked open a door and slammed it shut. I leaned against it. I could here them shouting in a Slavic language. A car passed the house._

_I saw four shadows. I didn't think. I shot. Four rounds, though their skulls. My pistol _pfft's _were the loudness of cork going off._

_Another car passed. It's head light's slightly illuminated the room. I saw the face of a girl._

_She sixteen, at most. She was dressed up enough that it looked like she was going on a date. Her eyes were full of fear, forever etched by the bullet that made a small, neat hole between her eyes._

_Her family. Her father mother, and a seven-year-old brother._

_No... God, please no... please no..._

_I sank to my knees and begged the forgiveness of the corpses._

* * *

_"Booth, what the hell do you want from me?" I demanded, slamming my beer down._

_"To stop wallowing in violence, Trev," clarified Booth, sipping his own drink._

_"I do violence," I argued, " The battle field is my home. Fighting is what I am good at."_

_"Killing from a mile away is what I'm good at," he said, "But you don't see me doing that anymore."_

_"I'm fine," I said._

_"Your not," man, he doesn't give up, "I know you well enough to to know that killing that family in Bosnia hurt you."_

_"_You _of all people aren't allowed to give me a psychological evaluation," I argued, "Not when you haven't told the woman you love how after Teddy died, you went up close and killed that group of Serbs."_

_"She doesn't need to know," he said emotionlessly and took a big gulp of his beer._

_"I told you about the family in Bosnia," I said, "You tell her about your own sins."_

_"She has enough baggage to deal with," he argued angrily and protectively. I would bet on how much of her baggage he helps her carry, "She doesn't need mine to."_

_"Ya know what?" I got up and threw some money on the bar. More than enough to pay for both of our drinks, "Carrying the world on your shoulders isn't nearly as hard when you let some one you know and love carry a little bit."_

_"How do you know?" he demanded._

_"Because I know you and love you like a brother," I clarified, "And you know my sins."_

**Again, sorry for not posting in a while.**

**REMEMBER THE DEAL**


	28. We all miss him

**Lisa**

He was having a nightmare. His skin was pale and drenched in sweat. His eyes shifted under their lids continuously. His breathing was quick and shallow.

I steeled myself. I knew what would happen if I woke him like this. I gently placed my hand on his burn-scarred shoulder.

His eyes snapped open. He grabbed my left shoulder and thew me onto the bed. His hand grabbed my neck and chin. His other one latched onto the top of my head. Perfect position to silently snap someone's neck.

His focused eyes took in my face. I saw why he was called the _Ghost of Death _in Korea. They were filled with a lethal concentration. But they drained. He woke from whatever battlefield haunted his mind.

Jon got off me and leaned against the headboard of our bed. He panted for breath. He gulped, "Don't do that again," he commanded, "I could have seriously hurt you."

"You were having a nightmare!" I protested.

"I have had worse," he lied, "But it's only a dream. They fade. I don't want _you_ to."

"Want to talk about it?" I asked.

He looked at me. Though his eyes were half closed, they regarded me seriously. He was trying to decide if he wanted me to know or not. He chose to do so, "Mass Grave in California, standing at my parents and brother's graves, family in Bosnia, talking to Booth."

"About what?" I asked quietly.

"Family in Bosnia," he whispered, "I miss him. He was a great friend, and my brother in the best sense of the word."

I went over and hugged him. He squeezed me tightly to his well muscled and scarred chest. I ran my fingers over the burn scar that covered his entire left shoulder. He said that he got on a mission to a terrorist supply cache when a barrel of Napalm went off. I leaned my head against him, ignoring the cold sweat that clung to him. His breathing was slowing, but his heart was hammering. Must have been a vivid nightmare.

"I don't usually have nightmare's this vivid," he said out of th blue, "But I think the kid is so much like her father. Booth was the only one before you that could make me feel guilty about something."

"She's bringing up memories about you friend," I realized, "She is bringing back the aspect of humanity in you that Booth used to bring out."

"I guess so," he agreed. His PDA vibrated once. He checked the text, "Parker just picked up Brennan. She's going to Station 1."

"Station 1?"

"Angela's and Jack's house. She has to meet everyone she abandoned," he explained, "I'll get Christie and move her to Cam and Peter's place."

"No," I gently pushed him back down, "Stay and rest."

"I slept for... wow, twenty hours is a record, even for me," his eyebrows shot up.

"No, you are going to stay in bed and eat something that doesn't come from a MRE bag," I commanded, "I'll make you a doughnut."

I saw two sides war within him. One side was the need to complete the mission, to make sure everything runs smoothly. The other was the love for me and the love for my cooking. I would offer sex, but every time he adamantly refuses. I don't know whether it was because the last time he had sex he got his girl pregnant, or because in his own words, "When you stab someone in the kidney, romance is something that doesn't really come to mind easily".

"Fine," he agreed begrudingly, "I'll _text _the order to Christie."

"Good," I smiled and went down stairs to the kitchen.

Let say this about Jon: he can be the sweetest man in the world at times. He isn't a romantic, but he does little things for me. He washes the dishes, just cause. He will cleanup the kitchen spontaneously, simply because I am tired after a hard day's work. He cooks dinner for me just cause it's Tuesday.

However, he is also paranoid. The bakery has more guns than an armory on a carrier. He hides them _everywhere_. And not all of them are side arms. I found an M4 in the closet were I store the flour. So, while I baked, I came across three SOCOMs, nine Glocks, a Sig, two MP15s, a grenade, and a Kalishnakov-74u. All of which I ignored with a practiced ease. The Kalishnakov was new. And a bit ridiculous. If the time ever came when he needed a 5.45mm cut-down assault rifle(in his words "A submachine gun with attitude") we were well and truly screwed.

I found peace in my baking. I truly loved it. It brought back memories of my father and I baking bread in our tiny village. About how my father would smudge a little dough on my nose. How we would wake at dawn, and he would teach me my letters while we waited for the dough to cook and become noodles or salt bread or anything. He would always laugh as he did so.

It would take at least two hours to prepare a doughnut, and during that time Jon would do push-ups, sit-ups, any physical activity. He could sit still for days. I have seen him do it. But when push came to shove, his need for physical exertion overwhelmed his sniper training.

Jon was not sexy in any sense of the word. When he had a shirt on, he could pass for anyone. His face was average, and something that could easily disappear in a crowd. Without a shirt, he was muscular and scarred. _Really _scarred. More than a dozen bullet scars and six knife scars, not to mention the burn covering his left shoulder. Those things were scary and a big turn-off.

But, even after knowing Jon for three years, knowing that he can be a monster, he still has yet to move on from anything. Al-Jahan, his family's death, all the comrades that died on his watch. He hides it well, and reaps vengeance on those who think to harm his loved ones. He would do anything for me. Kill, die, capture, anything. He could be tender and loving and at the same time, hard and impersonal.

We all had our monsters, the willingness to commit evil for pride or hate or for no reason at all. With Jon, his was closer to the surface, more excessable. More dangerous. But he wasn't a monster. He worked day in and day out to force it down. His effort to commit evil yet not be a monster amazes me. It's why I love him.

Plus, I've been celibate for three years. By now, a monkey can look sexy.

**Brennan**

Saying that Parker had grown was an understatement. The man was _huge._ Easily bigger than his father. Who he looked exactly like. He was easily identifiable in the crowd. He stood over a head taller than anyone there. He was not only tall, but _muscled_. His musculature indicated that he weight lifted seriously.

The silence was uncomfortable between us. All I could do was say "Hi, Parker," back.

"How have you been?"

I thought about it, "Not good, actually."

He smiled sadly, "Well, it probably won't get better anytime soon. We all miss him."


	29. Memories

**I know this is short, but( and I know this sounds like a crazy and annoying artist) this chapter just seems to speak to me. It **_**demands **_**to be short. My creativity has deserted me in my hour of need. Bastard.**

** Brennan**

"Sweetie," The second she saw me, she pulled me into one of her hugs. The one that warms you from the inside out.

I didn't want warmth, "Where is she, Angela?"

"Excuse me?" she asked. She scowled, "I'm sorry, Bren, but you left me, Parker, _everyone _out to dry. Did you really think that Booth's death only affected you? I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but it hurt all of us."

"Shut up," I commanded, "He left me with a _daughter._ You could move on! You could forget! I couldn't and it only hurt that much more!"

"You think moving on is forgetting?" she yelled.

I was about to retort when something big lifted me from the back of my collar. Parker had literally lifted _both _of us and shook us like dogs, "Stop fighting!" he commanded before dropping us, "Sheesh. You two used to be _friends._ Now I have to keep you from killing each other!"

"Where is she?" I yelled, "I don't care if you are a federal agent, I will have you arrested for kidnapping!"

"How?" his voice was calm and collected, "Christie is legally eighteen. As I recall, there was no sign of a struggle, so the best that can be said is that she ran away, _Legally. _Sound familiar?"

"You have no reason why I ran away!" I accused.

"Then enlighten us," he challenged, "Why? You were Dad's _best friend and partner._ And you left an nine-year-old boy hanging, mourning his father's loss. All you did _was give me advice!"_

"What was I supposed to do?" I asked, "What? Wake up every morning and see remnders of him every day? Tried that. It hurt. I didn't want to repeat with a daughter in tow."

"So you raised her not to know who her father was?" asked Angela, "To always wonder about the rest of her family? To never now what a great man he was?"

"Was! Angela, that's just it, _was! _He's _gone!_ He's not coming back! And he left me a broken promise?

"What broken promise?" Parker.

Tears stung my eyes now, "We were drinking..."

_"We should really stop now, Booth. We won't be able to drive home."_

_ "Aww, come on Bones! A few more shots!"_

_ "Fine. But only a few more."_

_ "Thata girl."_

"And we had too much.."

_"You are really drunk, Booth."_

_ "I'm really drunk? You're the one who is swaying from side to side."_

_ "I'm not swaying... the ground is just moving on it's own..."_

"We woke in a hotel room and..."

_"Aww, my head. Wait, Bones?"_

_ "...."_

_ The mad dash to get dressed. The awkwardness and tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a saw. The fear of losing my best friend and partner to this awkwardness._

"His cell phone rang... and.."

_"Booth... what, it's my day off... fine... I'll be a little late."_

"He promised... he promised..."

_"Bones, I promise to talk about this. We will."_

"He never kept his promise!" I sobbed. Angela hugged me. I held on for dear life as the memories started to swell to the surface.

**Remember, I want three reviews. You guys have been a little slack.**


	30. Eltee and Sarge

**Cam**

Being with Christie was a lot like being with a Booth/Brennan hybrid. She was just as smart and just as astute as Brennan, yet she was also just as quirky and emotional as Booth. It started with a belt buckle, let's just say that.

I managed to track down another _Cocky _beltbuckle. I kept in a display case. It seemed the moment she saw it she fell in love with it.

"I gotta get me one of those!" she exclaimed, "That is so cool!"

"You father thought so too," I smiled, "He always wore one. I got this one to replace the one that got destroyed."

"Destroyed?"

"It got destroyed when he died," I explained, "And no. Trev told all of us not to tell you how he died. I completely agree that it's Brennan's job to do so."

"That's so uncool!"

"I'm the patient one," Jake commented, "She can't even wait for cookies to bake."

"I thought they would cook faster!" she argued.

"You nearly burned down the house!"

It brought back memories of watching Booth and Brennan interact, "Are you two married?" I joked.

"We will be in four years," she quipped.

"Huh?" not the answer I was expecting.

"Share with the class, Christie," evidently Jake was also confused.

"It's part of my plan," the way she said it made it sound like it was obvious.

"What plan?" he asked wearily. I guess he knew more about Christie's quirks than I did.

"My plan," she answered, "We go to college. See each other once a month for romantic dinners and passionate love making," I saw Jake's ears go red, "Spend the holidays and vacations together. Talk to each other every night on the phone. You propose a week before graduation-"

"Be kind, rewind," interrupted Jake, "When did I agree to this?"

"You didn't," she said with an obvious voice.

"I'm the neurotic one, _you're _the spontaneous one."

"I'm being spontaneously neurotic," she countered smugly.

"That's an oxymoron."

Like I said. Being with these two brings back memories.

**Calson**

I received a text while getting off the plane. Keenan ordered me to go, said it might be a lead. I personally wanted to go and see the friends from her past life, maybe catch up with Mountain. I never even new the kid was married, but then, when he got discharged, he went to NCIS. Not a real popular move for those whose work is... questionable. But, she is the Sheriff.

The taxi dropped me off at the address. It was a bakery in Little Korea. The sign said _open_, and it seemed harmless enough.

Stepping inside, I was assaulted by smells. The smell of baking bread, sugary confections, and ethnic baking. I heard a hustle and bustle from the back room. No one manned the cash register, but no one seemed to care. They chattered animatedly among themselves. When the Invasion happened, I started learning Chinese and Korean. My skill in both languages sucked, but I was skilled enough to say with some degree of certainty it was gossip.

I dinged the bell on the counter. A small Asian women walked out of the kitchen, some batter smudged on her apron, "Hi. What can I get for you?" she asked in a genuine smile with a slight accent.

"Uh," the text only said the address, "A doughnut?" I pointed to one of the confections under the glass counter.

"Good choice," she said while placing said confection on a paper towel, "We aren't strangers here. Name's Lisa."

"Jeff."

"Jeff Calson?" my nerves instantly went on edge. I nodded wearily.

She pointed at a door in the back, "Jon's right out there."

"Jon Trevo-"

"Trevodur, yep."

"Thanks," if possible, I was more weary now than before. I obediently opened the door.

The first thing that struck me was that he was doing pull-ups. The ghost of Marines past was alive and well.

Sarge had aged almost nothing. I was pushing forty and was a year older. He looked only a few days over thirty. He also had a _much _larger collection of scars. I was there when he got burned by Napalm in Manila, and that was the most obvious one. New scars included knife one under his right pec, a bullet wound in his lower abdomen, and another bullet wound a mere _centimeter _from his heart. He was always a lucky prick.

We were in the ally behind the bakery. Sarge had a collection of dumbbells, a weightlifting bemch, and what looked like a stationary bike from the Great Depression. Right now he was doing pull ups on the fire escape ladder.

I counted fourteen before he dropped, "Hey, Eltee."

"Hi, Sarge," strangely, I didn't feel confusion or anger or anything. This man was my hero in uniform, and all I felt was an old familiarity with him.

"You got old," he observed, "It's good to see you."

"Like wise," I scratched my head, "Met your daughter once."

"When?"

"She was about fourteen," I said, "She was a lot more respectable than many other teenagers I know," chief among them Christie.

"That's my girl," he smiled, "Know where she is now?"

"Where?"

"Harvard, studying economics and pre-med," he smiled, "My girl's gonna be a doctor. She's gonna save lives."

"Like father like daughter."

"Nah," he shook his head sadly, "I _ended _lives. She... she gonna be better than I ever was."

"Hey, if I remember correctly, you helped support your brother and sister after your parents died."

"Where'd you learn that?"

"Brother," we bonded at the funeral, "said you worked two jobs throughout high school, played football to the point where you are on the Wall of Fame," I had personally visited the school and found his name on the Wall, "and maintained a 3.9 average. You kicked ass in high school."

"I'm glad that she never _had _to do what I did."

"Jen's a good kid. She respects you," I argued.

"I know. Even if she does think I'm dead," he gulped water from a bottle, "Why are you here? I DC."

"Sheriff," I answered, "Speaking of which, why are you jerking her around?"

"You know her partner was the Mile-Shot Master, right?" I nodded, "When I faked my death and went into black-ops. Booth was asked to teach me to use a sniper rifle."

I shrugged, "Makes sense."

"And I was a stark raving psychopath before, right?" I nodded. That he was, "He managed to bring me out of my psychopathic tendencies a bit." I glanced at the wall. He had taped a poster of Al Gore to the wall. At least I think it was Al Gore. It was peppered with bullet holes. Mostly in his face, "I said a bit."

"Get to the point."

"Booth was a good friend and Brennan-"

"Keenan."

"Whatever. She was his best friend. I'm helping her get over his death," he explained.

I thought about it. It matched what I knew of him. I was broken out of my revery by him saying, "You should eat that. It's _really _good."

"You ate a rat raw once," I argued, "Excuse me if I take culinary advice from the man who can eat crap.

"That was only camel crap. And I'm serous. It is kick-ass good."

I sighed and took a bite of the doughnut.

It was like a the Olympics were being hosted in my mouth.

**REMEMBER: REVIEWS MAKE MY WORLD GO ROUND! I NEED REVIES TO WRITE! THREE AT THE VERY LEAST!**


	31. Kids these days

**Cam**

Trev cut it close. He got Christie and Jake out with only five minutes to spare. He took them to what he called the "Final Stage", whatever that is.

His plan was to have her deal with me, Sweets, Daisy, and he somehow managed to "persuade" the Army to allow Wendall some leave.

When the door opened, I saw the face of a friend I hadn't seen in years.

**Brennan**

They were all here. Cam, Sweets, Daisy, and Wendall.

Cam hadn't aged much. She looked much the same, except with a few gray hairs. Sweets looked older as well, more experienced. Daisy no longer looked like the excited fan girl she did before. Now she looked calmer, more mature. Wendall had a harder look in his eye, like he had seen horrors.

They didn't move. They looked at me, taking everything in. It felt like their was a twelve hundred pound elephant in the room, and no one wanted to talk about it.

"Umm," why had I brought Calson here? That's right, he confirmed Christie's kidnapper was his old Sergeant, "I'm just gonna step out and catch up with Mountain," he and Parker quickly slipped out.

"It's good to see you again, Dr Brennan," Cam finally said.

"I wish you didn't have to," I answered.

"Why not?" Sweets asked.

"Because I left for a reason!"

"We heard about that," this time it was Wendall who spoke up, "Booth's death affected us all. It's understandable that you would run away. But we would have helped, you know."

I felt exhausted, emotionally and physically. I knew that they would have. Hell, I knew that they were going to forgive me. I just stopped caring.

I hugged Cam. She hugged back. The rest joined in.

"I'm the Sheriff of a small town in Oregon," I announced.

"You, a cop?" Cam laughed quietly.

"Yes. I am a very good cop," I had even taken to stale doughnuts.

"I took you place as the Jeffersonian's forensic anthropologist," said Daisy

"Congratulations."

"I help identify the remains of soldiers for the Army," said Wendall, "I even went through Ranger School."

"I head the Psycho-health Department in the FBI," said Sweets, "I'm mostly an administrator now."

"Sucks doesn't it?" I giggled half heartedly.

"It does."

Being here, being with my friends, it helped. My eternal sorrow felt less. The ragged hole in my heart was numbing.

I needed to talk with Christie.

**Parker**

"How you doing, Major?"

"I'm good," he answered, "Did you get bigger?"

"Only a few hundred pounds more," I joked.

"Heh, youth is waisted on the youthful," he scratched his head, "Speaking of youth, how is Sarge still young?"

"Sarge?"

"Trevodur."

"Ah," so Trevodur really did teach hand-to-hand combat to the Major, "Cryogenics. Apparently, some wacko-scientist tried to freeze him and succeeded."

"Sounds like a bad sci-fi novel,"

"That's exactly what he said," we laughed at that, "Hey, ya know, I made Major too."

"Ya did? I thought you left the Corps as a First Lieutenant."

"First Counter-Strike."

"Ah," he didn't say anymore. Didn't need to. I had been working at NCIS for six months when the ACF invaded. The Department of Defense quickly delivered a counter-strike against them. They called back every swinging dick that ever wore a uniform and could still fire straight. I knew I was going to be conscripted, so I negotiated to reenlist with a promotion to Captain and command position. In hind sight, I wish they just left me a lieutenant at that. The First Counter-Strike was the worst military operation in military history. _92%_ casualties. Of my entire company, only I made it out of the hell hole that was Los Angeles alive. They gave me a promotion to Major and a honorable discharge for psyche problems a few hours later. I was only making headway by talking to Sarah, much to the odd pleasure of my therapist. I guess Castle doesn't really care who I talked to, just as long as it was someone.

"You were conscripted for that op?"

"No," he shook his head, "I got the Second Counter-Strike," the next counter-strike was more successful. In the fact that they stopped the already slowed ACF in the Sierra-Nevadas. Still massive casualties, "I wish the Sarge was with us on that one. He would have whipped those chinkers ass back to Korea."

"He really that good?"

"He's the best," the Major answered, "Was a flippan' ninja ghost at night. He could flippan' _teleport _to a destination, he was so quiet."

"Impressive," the Major was well known for giving out compliments like a miser gives out a million bucks, "He's also bat-shit crazy."

The Major laughed at that, "Yep, Mountain, he is. We joked that using him properly involved pointing in a general direction and opening the box."

"I can see that," the only way to make this reunion better was beer.

**Trev**

We stopped by Angela's house. Christie forgot her iPod there. I was honestly ready to head-slap her like I saw DiNozzo do to Parker.

"Hurry up," I commanded.

"I am hurrying!"

"No, you're _arguing._"

"I can multi-task!"

"Which just means you will look slower."

I heard a knock. A kid at about fourteen stood in the doorway, her iPod in his hand, "Looking for this?" he asked. Behind him was a girl of similar age. I guesses they were Sam, Hodgins and Angela's kid, and Lily, Sweets and Daisy's kid. They looked kind of familiar.

"Trev, give me your PDA," commanded Christie. I reluctantly did so.

She pressed a few buttons and brought up the feed from the night we snuck into the Jeffersonian, "What the hell is that?"

"It's the thing we do," he answered, not fused _at all _by the fact that we caught them.

"No. A 'thing' is a little trick done with your hips" I didn't want to think about how she knew that, "_This _is some demented contortionist pose while naked."

"You're just jealous that you can't do that," accused the girl smugly.

"Oh, I'm not jealous," by now, I knew enough to now that dangerously sweet tone indicated that she was about to do something violent, stupid, or both, "Not when my man can make me scream all night," stupid it was, then.

"Really?" she asked, putting her arm around Sam protectively, "We'll just have to have a little contest, then."

"I'm liking the sound of this," Sam smiled.

"Bring it on punk."

"Okay, stop!" I put my foot down at sex contests. How would you judge it, anyhow? "You, get your iPod, get in the car, and read up on the dangers of premarital sex."

"I honestly wouldn't mind popping-"

"Finish that sentence and I will hog tie you and gag you," I warned, "And you two, I'm telling Angela and Daisy."

"What?" they seemed really afraid of their parents.

"Don't, PLEASE!" she begged.

"She'll ground us for months!"

"Then start reading the bible!" goddamn kids these days.

**The last part was a little more dirty humor. Couldn't resist**

** 3 REVIEWS=1 NEW CHAPTER.**

** NEXT CHAPTER: BRENNAN MEETS CHRISTIE AND WE FOUND OUT HOW BOOTH DIES!**


	32. Reunions and Healing

**Here it is. The moment we have all been waiting for.**

** Christie**

So this is my father's grave. Here in Arlington. Dad was buried in Arlington. His headstone a simple cross, one of hundreds of identical ones. _Seeley Joseph Booth, 1972-2010. _his history, all four lines.

I'm not a quiet person. Mom, Calson, Jake, Trev, anyone will tell you that. But here, on Dad's grave, I just couldn't speak. I felt the weight of his life pressing down upon my shoulders. I looked up at the sky. I could almost see a shadow, his smile gazing down on me. I smiled myself. Mom would always argue with me about being a devote Roman Catholic. But somehow, I could just see God supplying me and her with the strength to continue. He had a plan.

When I looked back to the hill, I saw Mom.

She looked... different. More whole. The air of sadness was less, a mere shadow.

She ran towards me. She enveloped me in a hug. I hugged back. I missed her.

"How?" It was all I could think to say.

"A bomb," I could feel the tears on my neck, but her voice was quiet and strong, "He arrested a bomb-maker for the mafia."

I could see it.

_Booth driving down the street in his black SUV, fresh from making his promise. Him spotting a attempted mugging of a young girl. The mugger pulling her over to a side alley. Him launching himself out of the car and racing to the rescue._

_ Finding the ally empty. Wearily walking in, right up to a dumpster by a wall._

_ Stepping on a trip wire he didn't see. The explosion. _

"I worked the case..."

_Mom kneeling beside a burned corpse. Her clinical voice sounding as she identified age, race, height, and build._

_ Mom at the Jeffersonian. Her braking down when the DNA test results came back. Her curled up on the floor, moaning in pain, "Booth... Booth why?..."_

_ The silent tears streaming down her face as she attended the funeral. The absolute look of pain and misery._

"I'm sorry, Mom," I cried. Tears streaked down my face as well.

"No," she pulled away and gripped my shoulders, "_I _am sorry. Sorry for not telling you what a great man he was. Sorry for keeping you away from family, friends."

I saw the others had surrounded us. Parker, Angela, Cam, Sweets, Daisy, Trev, Lisa, Jack, Sarah, even the redhead and black haired man from Parkers team, Alexis Castle and Max Blast and Calson, Lily, Sam.

Jake.

I glanced back at the grave. I looked at Trev. He kept his eyes respectfully on the grave. I realized that he had been hurting from his death as much as Mom has, mourning the loss of his good friend. But he dealt with it better and could hide it better. Dad had saved Trev from the dark world of pain and suffering and had returned the favor to Mom.

"Mom, let's go home."

As one, we turned to leave. I could feel his smile down on us, as Mom no longer carried her cloak of sadness. Only one of hope and love.

I stayed by her side. We walked, and didn't have to say anything. We could just _feel_.

I saw some one. My nerves were sent on edge. It was a man. He sat on a bench. His eyes laser focused on Parker. They were blotchy red.

In one movement, he was on his feet, a gun in his hand.

The world slowed. I could barely hear, "You killed my son! Die!" he fired off a single round before Trev put one clean through his skull and Calson and Parker followed up with multiples to the chest.

I felt, rather than saw Mom fall. Blood spurted everywhere.

Her blood. A hole through her chest. Right through her heart.

**REVIEW. OTHER WISE, BE HUNG BY THE CLIFFHANGER.**


	33. Second Chance

** Brennan**

It felt like a red hot hammer slamming into my chest. The breath was knocked out of me. My limbs felt like lead, they couldn't support me anymore. I collapsed...

The pain. It was gone. I wasn't on the ground. I was standing next to Christie. I saw Trev grab her and throw her away from a body on the ground.

My body.

My _corpse._

_ "Mom!" _she cried. She rushed towards the corpse, but again Trev threw her, this time into Jake. Jake latched onto Christie, and wouldn't let her leave. She struggled desperately to get to me, but Jake held her with an iron grip, "Mom!" she cried, tears staining her face. She curled in Jakes arms and cried.

I saw Trev kneel before my body. He gently closed my eyes. Lifeless eyes, "I'm sorry, Booth," he whispered, "I couldn't protect her. I failed," I watched as he broke in front of me. He clenched his fist, his face a portal of rage and pain.

Something warm tugged on my sleeve. Not the corpse's sleeve. Mine.

At my elbow was a boy. He looked about seven years old, with spiky brown hair and a kind face, "Jon-Jon didn't fail, Bone-lady."

"Jon-Jon?"

"He calls himself Trev," he said, "Jon-Jon's my big brother. My name is Stevie."

"I'm dead, aren't I?" I asked.

He shook his head, "Sad man's son was arrested by Big Booth. He died in prison. Sad man wanted pay-back," he answered.

"That doesn't answer my question. Am I dead?"

Again he shook his head, "No."

"No?"

"No, you no dead," he looked at his broken brother with regretful eyes again, "Jon-Jon never forgets his friends deaths. Not mine. Not Booth's. Not Mommy's or Daddy's or Billy's or Savvy's or anyone's."

"How am I not dead?"

"You're given second chance," he looked at me curiously, "Here you dead. But you given life somewhere else."

"Like reincarnation?"

"No, silly!" he giggled, "No re-in-car-bustion. Just another chance."

I looked at Christie. She cried uncontrollably in Jake's arms, "What about her? What about everyone else?"

"I don't know," he answered, "Up to them."

"Will I see Booth again?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know," he admitted, "We got to hurry. You need your second chance!"

I felt myself being catapulted. The world became a blur. It grew dark and cold...

_I saw myself. I was tipsy with drink. I was being supported by a sober Booth._

_ That night. But it was different. Booth had decided to be the designated driver._

_ "Bones, careful!" he chided, "Your gonna fall."_

_ "I'm fine Booth!" I slurred._

_ "Excuse me sir," interrupted a man. The bartender, "You forgot your change."_

_ "Um, one second," he let go of me for one second._

_ I watched as I wandered off, foolish from the drink. I watched as I stepped off the curb. I slipped and fell. I watched as my head hit the curb. A sickening _crack _brought Booth's attention to the curb. _

_ "Bones!" he rushed to my unconscious form. He lifted me into is arms, "Call 911!" he shouted __at the bartender, "Come on Bones, don't die."_

** Brennan**

I heard a noise. My eyes were closed. They felt heavy. My body felt heavy and unfamiliar. The noise was incessant. A beeping.

I was lying on some sort of bed. The mattress was lumpy and thin, the sheets scratchy. I felt wire leading to my arms. I felt suction cups on my chest, the beeping must be the sound of my heart.

I has in a hospital. Why? Then the memory of the night came back. Me falling. I probably had cerebral bruising. I was probably in a coma.

I felt a warm hand in mine. Somehow I managed to open my eyes.

"Booth?"

I felt him stir. He groggily opened his eyes. They lit up in recognition and happiness, "Bones!"

**Mendenbar is right. I now have an addiction to reviews. As of such, I shall leave you with this cliffhanger and demand three more reviews. But, I am fighting my addiction. So, I shall tell you about the final two chapters:**

** Booth and Bones talk about... I don't really know what to call it. Whatever you talk about to a person who just woke up from a three week coma. **

** Christie on her first military op.**


	34. She's awake!

**Booth**

_She's awake!_ I pulled her into a tight hug. I felt her breathing, not slow and regular as it had been for three weeks, on my neck. I felt her tears as she tried to hug back, but was stopped by the IV feeds into her arms.

"You're awake!" I exclaimed, "Thank God!"

"I know, Booth," her voice sounded raspy and tired, "And God is-"

"I know Bones," I laughed shakily. Her denouncing God meant everything was going to be okay, "I'm just so happy you're awake."

"I am too, Booth," she rasped. I poured water into a plastic cup and gave it to her to drink. She gulped it all down, "Thank you," her voice was slightly stronger now.

I sat back in my chair and winced as the action sent pain upon my back.

Bones noticed this, "Have you been sleeping in that chair?"

"I didn't want to leave you," I confessed.

"That's bad for your back and you know it."

"You just woke from a three week coma and you are giving me gripe about my back?"

"If I don't, who will?"

"Good point."

More than a good point. It meant that she was worried about me, that everything was returning back to normal. That Bones would be alright.

Silence enveloped us. An uncomfortable silence. I could feel her staring at me, looking at me like I would leave at any second and never come back.

"I had a dream in the coma," she whispered.

"Want to talk about it?" I offered.

She nodded, "We solved a case and went out for drinks..."

"Nothing new about that, Bones," I smiled. I hoped to be back to solving cases and drinking with her ASAP.

"We got drunk and had sex..."

I squirmed slightly. My prudishness did not permit me to say anything. Yeah, I did wonder and sometimes(at least once a week) having sex with her. But at least those were fantasies about a relationship with her.

I saw tears well up in her eyes, "And the next morning, you were... you were..."

"Shh, Bones," I got out of my seat and hugged her again. I felt tears on my neck as she buried her face in there.

"Murdered. You were killed, Booth," she sobbed.

"It's okay, I'm alive," I soothed, "And I'm not going anywhere."

She seemed to be getting better control of herself. Her breathing calmed. I again went to sit down on the hell-borne Chair of Bad Backs when she did something totally unexpected.

She grabbed my tie and pulled me in.

She kissed me.

It was like the first case. But this time, my nerves lit in fire _more. _I think it has to do with the lack of tequila. I could feel my heart hammering in my head, a feeling of vertigo enveloped me.

All to soon, it ended.

"What hurt the most," she whispered, her eyes still closed, "Was not knowing."

"Not knowing what?"

"I love you, Booth," she whispered, "I think I did for a long time, ever since you helped solve my mother's case. I _knew _when you were in the coma. The _fear _of losing you. Now, I _need _to know if you love me back."

"Silly question," I grinned again, "Of course I love you back. In fact, I love you more."

"Impossible," she whispered, a grin settling upon her angelic features, "Scientifically impossible."

"Love makes science it's bitch for now," I compromised.

"Agreed."

She scooted over on the hospital bed. I lied down next to her. It wasn't much more comfortable than the chair, but next to _my _Bones, I couldn't care less.

I heard the door to the room slam open.

Leaning on the door frame, a man clutched his side. His face was covered in bruises, and he had a split lip. He panted from the effort of standing upright.

"Booth," said Trev, "Problem."


	35. Job to do

**The final chapter in this story.**

** Jen Trevodur**

Hitting the books on a Friday night. Again. I need a boy friend.

Well, I can't help it. I'm like Maggy and Dad. Workaholic. Least, that's what I heard Dad was. All I had of him was his dog-tags and a picture of him from his time in the Marines. Said picture was on my desk. I always found it easier to study and work with it facing me. I guess it's the parental love of making sure you worked. Most people think Dad's eyes are cold and heartless. I know better. I can see, far behind those walls of focus and cold calculation was a lot of hurt.

"Hope you're proud, Pops," I muttered, "21 and still a virgin."

I heard a knock on the door. My roommate coming back from a hot date. I just hoped she wasn't _with _a hot date. She always forgets her key, "It's open!"

I heard the door open and a stranger, female, young, around early twenties call, " Jennifer Jon Trevodur?"

Not my roommate. I turned around and saw a young women in Army ROTC Dress Blues standing at the doorway. The standard-issue name tag read _Booth._ The unit patch identified her from Washington State, "You're a long way from home, Boot," I said, using the Marine slang term for "recruit".

"Hi, umm, my name is Cadet Captain Christie Booth, Washington State University Army ROTC," she held her hand out to shake.

I politely did, "I can tell," I gestured to her unit patch and ranks on her collar, "What do you want?"

"Well, I am visiting my future fiancé, but not why I am here here," she said.

"Then why? I got to study," if I failed the MCAT, Harvard Med Degree goes out the window.

"I think there is some one you should meet," she gestured at the still open door. I saw some one step out of the shadows. He had managed to blend in perfectly with them, becoming invisible.

"Hi, Jenny," the man said, "You look so much like your mother."

No... he can't be...

"Dad?"

**Christie**

The chopper suddenly banked right. So, antiaircraft fire had already begun, huh? According to Intel, it wasn't supposed to start for another 300 klicks.

_9 times out of ten, Intel ain't worth the paper it's printed on._

The lessons came back, clear as day. The long hours under the hot sun. Slowly and painfully learning to fight with my hands, feet, guns, sticks, knives, forks, rusty spoons. Learning to become a ghost, able to sneak into a concentration camp and get out without them even knowing you're there. Emptying your mind of emotions and thoughts such as the value of human life. There was a time and place for such thoughts.

The battlefield wasn't it.

_Shit will always hit the fan. Those who don't die in the mud are quick enough to get out of the way._

And I would have to be the quickest and smartest of them all. I would have to react the fastest and command others in the right course of action.

I was a Second Lieutenant of the United States Rangers. I was trained personally by the greatest light infantry man alive.

Sergeant Major Jon Trevodur had returned from the grave to teach me.

_When you have a underling more experienced than you, let them do their job without interference. You will only get people killed._

_ You will be Butterbars after today. Shit-brained officers, but officers none-the-less. Screw up, and the nutcracker comes down._

The chopper again banked suddenly. My squad and I held tight onto the handles of the roof of the H-29 Stealthhawk Gunship. Good thing, because the bay doors were open. These honeys were being sent to the absolute limits of their range. Because of this, the bay doors were taken off the conserve fuel. Every drop of Hydro-Battery Fuel counted.

I looked out to the other copters of the unit. I saw one take a direct hit from a Korean antiaircraft missile. Fuel counted, but we were expendable.

_Shit-heads at the Pentagon often don't know the difference between human life and a number on a chart. No one can be as cold and heartless yet so gutless as those bastards._

I pulled out a photo from my pocket. It showed me, my husband, and son at the hospital. As Parker remarked, I looked like shit. But I was so happy to have brought a life into the world. And to protect them, I would bring a world of hurt upon the commie bastards and any other prick that dared think to harm them.

I placed the photo back into my pocket and gripped the handle tighter.

"You okay, Eltee?" I heard over the inter-team radio.

"I'm good. How bout you, Sarge?"

"Wrote a letter to Lisa and Jenny before I left. Not as young as I used to be," he answered.

"Don't even joke about that, Sarge," the team's corpsman, Seaman Sam Dorian begged, "Without you, how am I supposed to get back to Bella?"

"Don't worry, kid, that Sistah got guys commin after out the ass," quipped _Untersturmfüher__,_ Sergeant,Hans Basche. NATO finally joined in the war effort and Hansi was a graduate of GS-9, or the German Mountain School. SOB could chase down a deer and rip it apart with his bare hands. He also learned hi English in New York, guarding the German Consulate. You couldn't even tell he was German from his accent.

"Thanks, Hansi," Dorian's voice dripped with sarcasm, "I feel so much better."

"Dorian, stop joking with the Europeans," Sarge ordered, "They listen to Muse, so their just crazy and have no taste in music."

"Ouch," Private Floyd Tottenham, British SAS looked wounded, "I swear it was only once in my foolish youth!"

"_Oye, Sergento Mayor, ¿cuánto tiempo hasta que lleguemos al punto de caer__?_" asked _Cabo, _Corporal, Miguel Sanchez of the Mexican Army. His mother was an English national, he just reverted to Spanish for two reasons: to annoy me and to express his nervousness. I think it's the latter.

"Translation?"

"Corporal Sanchez wants to know when we reach the drop point," Sarge answered, "_Alrededor__de una hora y media.__"_

"So how long then, sir?" asked _Caporal__ Chef_ , Senior Corporal, Pierre Charboneu of the _Légion étrangère_, or French Foreign Legion to those Anglophones

"About half an hour," he answered.

I wondered if Mom and Dad would be proud of me. Here I was, serving my country, leading a squad with _five _different nationalities. I had the best Sergeant Major in the entire Third Counter-Strike Force(even if he was a Marine). I was married to a great man, had a beautiful son, and a bright future ahead of me.

The drop point came all to quick. The chopper came low and leveled out, not touching the ground, but hovering a few feet above it.

_There are two types of soldiers: those who stare at the Huey and watch it leave. And those who dive into the bush and get the job done._

I didn't look back at the Stealthhawk. I had a job to do.

**The End**


End file.
